


Affairs of Love

by bizzybee



Series: Affairs of Love [1]
Category: Fire Emblem: Fuukasetsugetsu | Fire Emblem: Three Houses
Genre: Drunken Confessions, F/F, Fake Dating, Fluff, Friends to Lovers, Light Angst, Miscommunication, Mutual Pining, Or Is It?, Sharing a Bed, Slow Burn, Unrequited Love, all blue lions and black eagles students make an appearance, baby gay ingrid, background ferdibert, background hilda/leonie, excessive and homoerotic handholding, lesbian ally sylvain
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-04
Updated: 2020-04-30
Packaged: 2021-02-22 12:53:49
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 11
Words: 49,939
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22563709
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bizzybee/pseuds/bizzybee
Summary: After a proposal gone awry, Dorothea convinces Ingrid to do something quite simple: pretend to be courting her so they may both capture their true desire’s attention. Thus follows a comedy of errors; namely, rule-making, rule-breaking, tea-taking, and maybe even. . . heart-aching?Things would have been so much easier if Ingrid had just become a knight.
Relationships: Dorothea Arnault/Ingrid Brandl Galatea, Ferdinand von Aegir & Dorothea Arnault, Ingrid Brandl Galatea & Mercedes von Martritz, Ingrid Brandl Galatea & Sylvain Jose Gautier
Series: Affairs of Love [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1724803
Comments: 117
Kudos: 302





	1. An Indecent Proposal

**Author's Note:**

> Hi hello and welcome to the fic that has been stealing all my writing time for the past month and a half! Dorogrid is one of my favorite couples in the game and I'm so excited to finally write such a fun fic for them. Thanks as always to my awesome beta readers, Isa and Kelsey!
> 
>  _"Friendship is constant in all other things,  
>  Save in the office and affairs of love."_  
> \- Much Ado About Nothing, Act II, Scene I
> 
> EDIT: HOLY SHIT LOOK THERE'S ART NOW!!!!!! OH MY GOD!!! GO SHOWER SEV IN LOVE OKAY ITS [HERE](https://twitter.com/sevy_kun/status/1319451548599095296?s=20)

Ingrid is nervous.

Her recent trip to House Galatea went well enough. Her father, always so kind and generous, had offered her a gift upon her arrival. Directly after that, she made the decision to purposely disobey that same father’s wishes for the first time in her life.

It wasn’t her fault, really.

Her sister, Hero, told her about her recent engagement while there, and extended an invitation to her wedding in a few moons. Her father then used this as a natural segue into giving Ingrid another list of suitors that were interested in her (or, more likely, her title). 

Even so, she feels a sense of shame deep in her core for going against her family, against her duty. Her father has never been anything but as kind and accommodating as possible when it comes to selecting a suitor for her; however, time and time again, Ingrid does not, can not fall in love. In fact, she has never even felt a spark of attraction for any number of the men her father has presented her with. She is beginning to believe she never will. Had things not occurred the way they did on their journey home, she may have continued to try, anyway. Sometimes one has to lie to themselves for the good of their family. But Ingrid is tired of lying.

There’s only one person she wants -- she realized this during the battle against the merchants the day before. None of the uppity nobles with their stiff upper lips and proper way of speaking appeal to her as Dorothea does, with her wit and quick quips, with her gorgeous hair and captivating eyes. By the Goddess, she was lovely inside and out.

So bewitched is Ingrid, she can’t possibly be at fault for impulsively, recklessly taking her grandmother’s Goddess Ring from her nightstand and stashing it into a pocket on her armor before departing from her family home. Right?

All Ingrid knows about courting she has learned from her father, from the nobility she has surrounded herself with throughout her entire life. And thus, she knows that a courtship doesn't end with a proposal, rather _,_ it starts with one. And she intends to court Dorothea, to maybe even spend her life with her.

The logical side of her argues that the repercussions for this far outweigh the possible benefits. There is no possible way her father will approve, that Dorothea will even agree. In fact, to even fathom this all going remotely well is laughable at best. But, when she pictures how Dorothea looked on the battlefield, tome in hand, casting a thunder spell at a wicked merchant with fire in her eyes, Ingrid’s heart can’t help but whisper, _Dorothea, Dorothea, Dorothea._

And can’t she listen to her heart, just this once? She can still be a knight, _will_ still be a knight, if they are wed. Her father is not too old to continue producing heirs in the hopes of another crest-bearer. 

And so, her heart wins. 

She clings to the thought of Dorothea on the battlefield as she pushes her way into the dining hall, Lúin in hand, for her post-trip debrief with Dorothea and the Professor. The two stand to greet her.

“Ingrid! Welcome back,” Dorothea smiles warmly, and Ingrid feels her heart flutter for a moment. “Did you speak with your father?”

“I did,” Ingrid says. “I just returned to the monastery.”

“What happened with the proposal?” Byleth asks, voice low. 

“As soon as I informed him of the suitor’s unsavory tendencies, he rejected the proposal outright.”

Dorothea grins at that, and even Byleth presses their lips into a thin line and raises their eyebrows a bit, a pleased twinkle in their eye. 

“Were we to form ties with such an individual, it would bode poorly for our family. And besides...” Ingrid trails off for a moment. “I didn’t much think I would like him anyway.”

“Oh, thank goodness.” Dorothea claps her hands together. “I was so worried for you, dear Ingrid.” 

Ingrid's cheeks color at the word 'dear', but she’s saved from having to reply by Byleth’s silent gesture towards the lance in her hand. 

“Oh, yes,” Ingrid says, hefting the weapon up so Byleth and Dorothea can take a better look. “My father insisted I take Lúin. He said I ought to keep it so I may protect myself against any other disreputable parties."

"Your father is a good man," Byleth nods.

"A stubborn man," Dorothea corrects, eyes rolling as she crosses her arms. At Ingrid's glare, however, her gaze and posture soften.

"Even so," Dorothea winks. "I could never bear to hand over my lovely Ingrid."

"Oh? Am I 'yours' now? Do I belong to you?" Ingrid raises her eyebrows, noting the color that rises to Dorothea's cheeks as she laughs. She loves to see that blush. She will do anything to make Dorothea blush, again and again and again.

Steeling herself, Ingrid sets Lúin on the table beside her, fishing the ring from her coat.

"Oh, and this is a little awkward," Ingrid shifts uncomfortably. "I wanted to repay you, Dorothea, and to show you how much I care, so I want to offer you... this."

She holds out the ring, adding, "It was my grandmother's," hastily, as Dorothea looks down at the ring then back up at Ingrid, an unreadable expression on her face.

Ingrid senses Byleth shifting out of the corner of her eye, and just barely hears the word "... proposal?...," as Byleth mutters under their breath.

Her attention snaps back to Dorothea; however, when the other girl exclaims, "Oh Ingrid, for me?" She gasps, raising a hand to her chest as a smile lights up her face. "Of course I accept! We'll be together forever!" 

Ingrid can't believe what she's hearing. Did Dorothea just- Did she accept? A shared glance with Byleth confirms that, yes, Dorothea did say yes, and, no, Ingrid is not dreaming.

Ingrid can't help but grin and pause for a moment, simply awestruck. She finds herself wanting to lean forward and do- something, even if she wasn't sure what. Kiss Dorothea, maybe? But she waves that thought away, plenty of time for that, later, when the Professor isn't looking on. So, instead, she reaches for the hand Dorothea has extended, slipping the ring on the other girl's fourth finger, trying not to shake.

"Oh, that thing is much too large for my ring finger. I'll wear it on my forefinger instead," Dorothea says, pulling her hand from Ingrid's and slipping the ring to her other finger.

Ingrid is hit with confusion, but, again, waves it away. Maybe commoners were more casual about where an engagement ring should be worn.

"It's a Goddess Ring, too," Ingrid says, scratching a spot behind her ear, unable to tear her gaze away from those porcelain hands and the silver ring that stands out against them. 

"Oh, Ingrid, you are positively adorable." Ingrid glances up at those words, and the grin on Dorothea's face makes her heart lift. 

"Yes, well, we've fought enough and I believe we deserve to have a bit of fun," Ingrid says, smiling. She knows her cheeks must be as rosy and pink as the skyline at dusk, but she doesn't care. She's reminded again of how desperately wants to kiss Dorothea, if not on the lips, on the cheek. Her heart pounds.

Ingrid's mustering up the courage to lean in when Byleth clears their throat. "I must be off. Private lessons with Edelgard. I'll inform Rhea of the debrief later today." The look on the Professor's face is unreadable, as is the slight shift in the way Dorothea is standing. With a nod towards them both, and a wink at Ingrid, the girls issue their goodbyes as Byleth leaves them, heading towards the classrooms. 

Dorothea's smile drops for a moment, and she says, voice suddenly guarded, "Well, darling Ingrid, I must be off as well." She winks again. "I have my own _private_ lessons to attend to."

Wait, what?

Now what was that supposed to imply? Ingrid thinks she knows, but then again, Dorothea had just accepted a proposal from her mere moments ago, so certainly...? 

Before the silence can turn uncomfortable, Ingrid nods. "I should depart as well. I must turn Lúin in to the armory, and then I have a tea appointment with Mercedes."

"How exciting," Dorothea giggles. She raises her hand to her mouth, ring glinting in the light. “Well, darling, I won’t keep dear Mercie waiting.”

“Right, yes. Shall I... Shall I see you tomorrow for the joint Seminar?”

Dorothea doesn’t answer, just winks at Ingrid for a third time as she walks past her, towards the door. Ingrid watches her go, that stupid smile still plastered to her face. 

Goddess, what a woman.

* * *

“I proposed to Dorothea,” Ingrid blurts out as soon as Mercedes takes her seat. “Tea?”

Mercedes presses a hand to her chest as Ingrid pours her a cup of Ginger Tea. “Oh, Ingrid! Really? Have you two been courting this entire time?”

“Well, no, but I just saw the ring, and I knew that after the battle with those awful merchants, it was a good a time as any-”

“I do know you’ve been sweet on her for months-”

“- and so, without thinking, I just did it, and she, well, she said yes.”

“I’m so happy for you!” 

And Ingrid knows that she is. That’s one of Mercedes’ best traits - her ability to be genuinely happy for the people around her, despite her inability at times to remember exactly why she’s happy for them in the first place. 

“What’s this I hear about you and Dorothea?” Ingrid startles at the exclamation coming from just behind her, and turns to look over her shoulder at the grinning face of Annette, who clamps her hands down on the back of Ingrid’s chair.

“Why, Annie, they’re engaged-”

“Mercedes-,” Ingrid interjects, but Mercedes presses on. 

“-isn’t it just so exciting!” 

Annette’s eyes light up. “Wow, Ingrid, congratulations!”

“Um. Thank you.”

“Can I compose a song for your wedding?” 

Ingrid is about to protest, _No, we’re not getting married any time soon, we’re just courting_ , but Annette just looks so damn hopeful and sweet that she finds herself saying, “Sure, Annette. That would be quite lovely.”

Annette lets out a loud squeal, wrapping her arms around Ingrid from behind. Ingrid awkwardly pats her hand, trying to breathe as Annette’s arms tighten around her neck. Goddess, when did she get so strong?

“That’s quite enough,” she chokes out after a moment, patting a little harder until Annette finally lets go, still giddy with excitement. 

“Thank you, thank you, thank you!,” Annette says. “I would _totally_ join you guys for tea but I promised Felix I would help him with his reason training! Congratulations, Ingrid! And Mercie, I’ll see you in the greenhouse later, right?”

She's already bounding away before either of them can answer, singing softly under her breath. It sounds suspiciously like a more upbeat version of the Faerghan Wedding March with the lyrics, _“Ingrid and Dorothea / Their love is a guarantee-uh.”_

Mercedes turns in her chair, waving goodbye at her friend with a laugh. “See you, Annie!” 

When she turns back to the table, Ingrid furrows her brow. “I thought Dedue and Ashe were on greenhouse duty this week.”

“Oh, don’t worry about it,” Mercedes waves it off, sighing as she smooths out the napkin on her lap.

“Also,” Ingrid continues, attempting to keep her voice level. “I wasn’t going to tell Annette about it all quite yet.” 

Mercedes blinks. "Oh, Ingrid, really? I didn’t know! Can I ask why not?”

Ingrid bites her lip, thinking for a moment. “Annette isn’t very, well, _discrete_ about these kinds of matters. “

“Whatever do you mean?”

“Do you remember that week when you told her you almost went to class in your underclothes because you forgot to put on your breeches?”

Mercedes' face flushes bright red. 

“And that one time Sylvain told her he didn’t actually know the name of his current girlfriend? Or even when Ashe confessed to her that he hid library books in his room past the due date? Or-"

“Sure, sure, I see what you’re saying, Ingrid," Mercedes interjects. "I should have realized, I'm sorry. I just didn’t know that you didn’t want everyone to know yet.”

Ingrid purses her lips together. It's hard to stay angry at Mercedes, especially when she looks at her with those round, sad eyes.

Fuck.

“Oh, it’s all right, Mercedes. You didn’t know. I just wanted to let certain people know in person, is all.”

“That’s all understandable, Ingrid. If you like I can talk to Annie in the greenhouse later? About not telling anyone?”

“Sure, Mercedes, that would be great." A beat. "I do appreciate you, you know.”

Mercedes grins. “Oh, Ingrid, I appreciate you, too! I so enjoy these tea times we take every week! And don’t have an inch of worry, I’ll talk to Annie later this afternoon. I’m sure everything will be just fine!”

* * *

Everything is not just fine.

It starts early the next morning, as Ingrid enters the dining hall for breakfast, face newly washed, hair wet and braided back after her early morning ride. She takes her usual seat, sandwiched between Sylvain and Felix, with Dedue and Dimitri across from them. The four are talking excitedly about the upcoming Battle of the Eagle and Lion, but talking ceases as Ingrid sits.

She looks around at her tablemates. "What?"

A pause.

“So, Ingrid _,_ ” Sylvain coos, voice sing-song as he takes a bite of grits. “What’s this I hear about you and a certain opera singer?” 

“What are you talking about?” Ingrid asks, voice too high-pitched for her to conceivably sound innocent. Damn.

“You’re engaged. Congratulations.” This comes from Felix, who gives her a nod. Wow. This was the Felix equivalent of hugging her tightly and jumping up and down. No wonder he actually came to the dining hall today.

“I don’t know what-”

“Well, Ingrid, I offer you and Dorothea my best wishes,” Dimitri says, smiling cordially.

Ingrid stares at him. She turns to look down the table, immediately making eye contact with Mercedes, who has clearly been trying to get her attention. Seated next to Annette, Mercedes makes a downright comically apologetic face, shaking her head and offering a shrug. Ingrid notes that Annette is chattering away to Ashe on her other side, completely oblivious to the silent communication between the other two girls. 

Ingrid groans and puts her head in her hands.

Damnit, Annette. 

“You know, Ingrid,” Sylvain raises an eyebrow. “When people offer you their congratulations, the nice thing to do is accept them with a thanks, not growl like a wild animal about to attack.” He winks. Ingrid rolls her eyes. 

“His Highness and I didn’t know whether to believe it or assume it was all hearsay,” Dedue says, quiet voice still easy to hear above the usual din of breakfast. “But, judging from your reaction, I can assume the rumors floating around true?”

Ingrid drags her hand down her face. It is much too early for this. 

“Yes, it’s true,” she finally confesses, “But we’re merely courting.” Her friends all lean back in their seats. Felix offers her another small nod, Dimitri almost smiles, and Dedue’s eyes twinkle as he reaches out and pats her hand resting on top of the table gently.

Sylvain pumps his fist in the air. “Hey, Goneril,” he calls across the dining hall. “You owe me 30 gold!” Ingrid looks up in time to see Hilda flashing a rather inappropriate hand gesture over her shoulder at Sylvain.

Ingrid turns to face him, slugging him in the arm with considerably more force than necessary. “Hey!”

Sylvain just laughs. “Sorry, Ingrid, but aren’t I allowed to have a little fun with your love life, too?”

“You absolutely are not.”

“Well, I wish I'd have known that one yesterday. With your confirmation I do believe I’m making about 300 gold from various classmates? So thanks for that.”

“Goddess,” Ingrid groans again. “Does _everybody_ know?”

“Well.” Felix nods his head in the general direction of the rest of the dining hall, raising his coffee cup to his mouth. Ingrid peeks between Dedue and Dimitri’s shoulders, only to see Bernadetta and Petra staring at her, Bernadetta with her mouth hanging open, Petra with a smile on her face as Leonie whispers something in her ear. 

Ingrid swiftly turns around in her seat, just to see Manuela. Lorenz. Ignatz. Caspar, Linhardt, Lysithea, so many, too many faces looking back at her. 

Then, she sees Dorothea, a bewildered look on her face. 

When their eyes meet, Dorothea just furrows her brow as if to ask, _What is going on?_

Ingrid rolls her eyes slightly, waving her palms in front of her. _Long story._

Dorothea lifts one hand to hide the other from Edelgard and Hubert on the other side of the table, pointing towards the door with a jerk of her head. 

Ingrid nods frantically. _Yes. Please. Let’s go now._

She watches as Dorothea excuses herself from her table, heading towards one of the side doors of the dining hall that opens into the courtyards beyond. Ingrid waits a moment, and then she, too, pushes back her seat, standing.

“Right. Well. I’m not hungry anymore,” she announces. 

“Sure you are,” Sylvain teases. “Just a different kind of hungr-” he’s cut off by a loud scuffle, which Ingrid can only guess is Dimitri stepping on his foot. 

“We’ll see you for class,” Dimitri says firmly. Ingrid nods at him, then at everyone else in their group except Sylvain, whom she glares at. 

She turns, walking quickly and trying not to make eye contact with anyone as she picks her way to the other side of the room. Goddess, why did they always have to eat at the far table? Just as she pushes her way through the door, she hears a wolf whistle (Sylvain), and a chorus of giggles following it (oh, Goddess, everyone else). 

She lets the door slam behind her with a resounding clang.

Dorothea is waiting for her beneath one of the gazebos, hands on her hips, looking ethereal as ever. 

But before Ingrid can offer anything, an apology, an explanation, _anything_ , Dorothea pulls up short. 

“Just why does everyone in the dining hall think we’re engaged?”

Ingrid stops, one foot on the step that leads up to the gazebo, one hand on the railing. What’s Dorothea playing at? Even if they aren’t _engaged_ per say, they are certainly courting.

Aren’t they?

Dorothea continues, obviously not waiting for an answer. “Was it because of that silly joke you made after the debriefing yesterday?”

Silly joke? Ingrid is trying to draw a connection between their conversation yesterday and the one they’re having today, and all she can say in her confused state is a very ignoble, “Huh?”

Dorothea rolls her eyes, scoffing playfully. “When you fake proposed to me, silly.”

“Um.”

“I’m trying to think of what happened. Maybe Professor Byleth thought it was real? And they told Edie, who told Hubie, who told Ferdie, who told everyone? He never can keep a secret, you know.” Dorothea flips her hair over one shoulder. “The only thing I can’t put together is why Ferdie didn’t come to me after finding out. You would think he’d be excited for me.” 

And then, with a rush of understanding, the puzzle pieces fall into place in Ingrid’s mind. Dorothea thought it wasn’t real. Dorothea thought it was a joke. Dorothea wasn’t accepting her proposal - because there is no proposal, in Dorothea’s mind. 

Dorothea thought it was a _joke_.

Ingrid swallows, trying to think, but her brain feels jammed, unmoving. She thinks she might cry, but that won’t do. _A proper knight doesn’t cry_ , she scolds herself. _A proper knight takes things in stride._

And in the next second, she makes a decision. She takes a step forward, onto the platform.

“Right,” she says. “A joke.” She forces out a laugh, but it sounds fake even to her. “Byleth must truly have thought I was- I was actually proposing to you.”

“Well, now everybody thinks that,” Dorothea points out. “Oh, I am going to _kill_ Ferdie.”

 _I am going to_ kill _Annette_ , Ingrid thinks.

“What can we do to quell these rumors?” Ingrid asks, swallowing hard to try and shrink the pit growing in her stomach. _Dorothea thought it was a joke._ “I imagine you have much more experience than I do on matters such as this.”

Dorothea lets out a contemplative hum, tapping one finger to her lips and turning to look out at the courtyard and hedge beyond. 

“We could, I don’t know, talk to Byleth or something...” Ingrid says, before trailing off when it becomes obvious that Dorothea isn’t listening.

After a moment of silence, Dorothea turns back to Ingrid, skirt swishing and eyes light. “I have a marvelous idea. Let’s give them something to really talk about.”

“What do you mean?”

“Now, hear me out, Ingrid,” Dorothea starts pacing back and forth across the small platform, and Ingrid can practically see the gears turning in her head. “Everybody already thinks we’re courting, and no matter how much damage control we do, we’ll never be able to convince everyone that it isn’t true.”

“Okay...” 

“The only efficient way we can get these rumors to go away completely, to get people to stop looking at us as we walk down the hallway for the next month or more, trying to figure out if it's all true, delving into our personal lives at every turn-”

“Where are you going with this?”

“-is by _confirming_ those rumors.”

“I- what?”

“Think about it for a moment, dear,” Dorothea stops pacing, turning to face Ingrid with a grin. “What if we simply let everyone _believe_ we were courting? And maybe even confirmed a few of the tamer stories going around? Definitely not the one where your father is about to send a battalion to kidnap you and take you back to House Galatea for being engaged to a commoner-”

“I’m sorry, what?”

“-but maybe just a few about us being together, us having courted in secret for months, stuff like that.” 

“What was that about my father?”

Dorothea ignores her. "So? What do you say?”

Ingrid takes a deep breath. “And why would I ever, ever, agree to something like this, Dorothea?”

“I’ll give you a few reasons, darling Ingrid. One, I reckon I know a lot more about the Garreg Mach Rumor Mill than you, no offense. This will work. Denying it will only make it worse. Two, we both have our actual crushes we would love to impress, and this is a good way to make them jealous. And three, you are a _hot_ piece of ass and I would be absolutely honored to fake date you for a good cause.”

Ingrid has questions about one, no two, no, actually, all of these points, but the one that’s the easiest to tackle (no matter how much she wants to ask about point number three), is the second. “I’m sorry - who are you trying to make jealous?”

“Why, Edie, of course,” Dorothea blushes slightly. “She only ever has heart eyes for Bernie, and I’m willing to try drastic measures such as these in order to capture her attention. And don’t think I haven't noticed the way you and Sylvain look at each other- Shit, Ingrid, are you all right?”

No, Ingrid was not all right. At the mention of Sylvain, she chokes on nothing, and after making a very unattractive and impolite sound in the back of her throat, she keels over, coughing. Sylvain? She and Sylvain? Goddess, is that really what Dorothea thought? Sylvain has been unsuccessfully trying to catch Felix’s attention for months now, and Ingrid isn't even sure she’s attracted to men. Sylvain is one of the only ones that even _knows_ that about her. 

But, Dorothea only laughs. “Oh, Ingrid, did you really think it wasn’t obvious? Maybe to the unpracticed eye, but I'm good at these things, you know. The way you spend all your time together, the way he drapes himself over you so often in public-” 

“Because we’ve been friends since childhood!,” Ingrid chokes out, forcing herself to breathe.

“Oh, darling, don’t protest. I see the way you look at him.”

Ingrid is ready to sink into the ground. 

Dorothea pushes on. “So, silly, what do you say?” She takes a step closer, looking directly into her eyes. Oh, sweet Sothis. 

And she wants to say yes, she wants to say yes more than anything. She wants a chance to be with Dorothea, even if it isn’t real, and yet she knows deep down that if she does go through with this, if she lets herself be caught up in this daydream, it can only bring her heart ruin. 

But one look into those hopeful eyes, and Ingrid hesitates. 

“Let me... Let me think about it.”

“All right,” Dorothea laughs. “Just don’t think too long, dear. You know I hate it when people keep me waiting.” She smiles, and, with a hand brushing against Ingrid’s arm, hops off the gazebo, setting off back towards the dining hall without another word. 

Well, Ingrid supposes, guess that conversation is over. 

“Talk to you tomorrow?” she calls to Dorothea’s retreating back. 

“Count on it!” Dorothea trills over her shoulder.

Ingrid stands there, alone. What the hell just happened?

* * *

_Ingrid’s Official List of Things to Do Because Oh Goddess What Have I Done, Did I Just Agree to Pretend to Date My Crush in Order to Impress Sylvain of All People, Now What? Or: a List of Tasks to Complete Before Talking to Dorothea Tomorrow._

  * _Have tea with Annette and Mercedes_


  * _Confront Annette and Mercedes_


  * _Ask Annette and Mercedes for help ~~if I don’t kill them first~~_


  * _Confirm whether the rumors are really as widespread as they seem_


  * _Talk to Sylvain (?)_


  * _Die, preferably._



* * *

Ingrid slams her hand on Mercedes and Annette's classroom table. The two girls have their heads close together, whispering, but they startle and pull away from each other at the sound, looking up at Ingrid with surprise. 

“Emergency tea time. After class. Courtyard,” Ingrid says. It’s not a question, and they know it. Mercedes, at least, looks sheepish, but Annette just looks confused at Ingrid’s attitude. Ingrid doesn’t much care. “Both of you,” she adds as an afterthought, before pushing past them and taking a seat in the back corner. 

She keeps her head low as students start streaming in through the doors, only looking up when Sylvain slides into the seat next to her. 

“Why, Ingrid, fancy seeing you here. Decided to join the degenerates in the back of the room, I see? Or are you here for something else? I must say, class is a strangely public place, especially for you, but-”

Ingrid cuts him off with a glare. 

“Okay, okay, not funny. Seriously, Ingrid, I’ve never seen you sit more than three rows back. Are you ill? Are you dying?” He gasps. “What if you aren’t even Ingrid?” Sylvain reaches out a hand, as if to feel her face for a fever, but Ingrid impatiently swats it away. 

“I swear to the Goddess if you say one more word to me, I will stab you through the hand with this quill.” 

“All right, message received.” Sylvain hesitates. “Do you want to, you know, talk about it? I do know you pretty well, actually, and many ladies and gentlemen have told me I’m an excellent listener.”

And even though talking to Sylvain about what’s happening is a check on Ingrid’s list, she definitely doesn’t want to bring up the fact that Dorothea believes she fancies him, not until she talks to Mercedes and Annette first. She’d never be able to live that one down. Instead, she decides to fish for information pertaining to something else she needs to know.

“Sylvain,” she says as quietly as she can manage. “Just how many people know about me and Dorothea?”

Sylvain gives her a look. 

“No," Ingrid says.

“Yes.”

“All the students?”

“More.”

“The faculty?”

“More.”

“ _Archbishop Rhea_?”

“Now you’ve got it.”

“I am going to kill Annette.”

“Yeah, babe, never trust that girl with sensitive information. Remember that one time when she walked in on me in the sauna with Claud- Anyway. You get the point.”

Ingrid resists the urge to hit her head against the table repeatedly. 

Instead, she simply shakes her hands out, leaning her head against the wall beside her and pulling out parchment to get ready for class. 

“Yeah. I’m truly sorry about it, Ingrid.” Sylvain offers her a genuine smile, then ruins it by continuing, “Say, can I borrow your notes after class?”

Ingrid doesn’t answer.

* * *

After class, Mercedes and Annette find Ingrid in the dining hall, doing what could only be described as angrily steeping a pot of tea. 

“Oh, Ingrid, let me take care of that,” Mercedes offers, gently taking the pot from her hands and continuing to steep. “Sounds like you haven’t had that good of a day.”

“Oh, I can do it if you like, Mercie!” Annette offers, making a grab for the pot. 

“Oh, no Annie, allow me, you always seem to burn yourself-” Mercedes protests, yanking the teapot back. A few droplets fly from the spout, landing on Ingrid’s face and arms. She winces, the boiling drops cooling quickly on her skin, and then gently but firmly takes the pot back from Mercedes. 

“Allow me,” she insists, knowing that if she lets these two continue on, soon there will be a mess all over the kitchen floor, or, worse, the three of them. Mercedes relinquishes the pot, and Ingrid returns to her task. 

The three sit in silence for a moment, and Ingrid can see Mercedes and Annette attempting to argue silently as she prepares the tea, but she pretends not to notice. She adds a drop of honey to her own tea, a splash of cream to Mercedes’, and three heaping spoonfuls of sugar to Annette’s before arranging them all on a tray. 

Ingrid turns back to the other two girls just in time to see Annette apparently win the unspoken fight, as Mercedes turns towards Ingrid, exclaiming, “Oh, Ingrid, I’m so sorry!” As Mercedes goes to clasp her hands together in front of her, one hand knocks into the tray, nearly sending it out of Ingrid’s arms and onto her uniform 

“Woah,” Ingrid exclaims, steadying the tray before squeezing her eyes closed to ground herself. “Shall we retreat to the courtyard, perhaps? Before the tea is ruined in its entirety?” 

She’s starting to remember why she never takes tea with both Annette and Mercedes at the same time. 

She refuses to let Annette or Mercedes carry the tray for fear of another accident, and the three girls push their way into the early afternoon sunlight. Ingrid chooses a table slightly removed from the others to give them privacy and hands each girl their cup of tea, positioning the teapot, napkins (for Mercedes’ spills), sweets (for Annette), sugar, cream, and honey around the table. 

After the three get settled, Mercedes once again proclaims, “I’m so, so sorry, Ingrid!” and Annette looks like she’s about to cry. Lovely. 

Ingrid takes her time, stirring her tea, then sets her spoon down on her plate with a clink. “Mercedes. You told me you would stop Annette from telling other people.” 

“And I did!” Mercedes protests. “I really did!”

“But it was too late,” Annette blurts. “I had already told Felix. And Caspar. And everyone else at the training grounds. And also the gatekeeper by the marketplace.”

Ingrid is seriously considering violence at this point, but, instead, takes a deep, steadying breath. Then, for the second time that day, she puts her head in her hands and groans. 

She sits there, hands over her face, rubbing her temples with her thumbs, for a long while, before Mercedes finally says, “Oh, Ingrid, please say something!”

Ingrid holds up one finger in a _give me a moment_ gesture. Then, she scrubs her hands through her hair, sets them politely back in her lap, and looks up at her two friends. “The engagement isn’t real.”

Silence. 

“I’m sorry, what-”

“But you said-”

Ingrid takes a sip of tea. “Dorothea thought it was a joke. She, ah, doesn’t feel the same way.”

“But how do you know that?” Annette protests.

“She told me.”

“Oh, Ingrid,” Mercedes cries. “That’s so heartbreaking!” She stands to scoot her chair around the table to give her comfort, knocking over her cup of tea as she does. “Oopsie!”

“I’ve got it!” Annette says, reaching for the pile of napkins. She unceremoniously begins to sop up the rapidly spreading puddle, but not before placing a protective layer of napkin around the plate of sweets. 

Ingrid pinches the bridge of her nose. 

She startles as Mercedes wraps an arm around her shoulders, forcefully pulling her towards her and stroking her hair, whispering soothing condolences in her ear.

“Right, well,” Ingrid says after a moment, voice muffled, as her face is currently pressed against Mercedes’ chest with no room to move. “Mercedes? I can’t breathe.”

“Oopsie!,” Mercedes says again, relinquishing her hold. Ingrid sits back up in her chair, pulling it just a few inches away from her friend to put some distance between them. 

She smooths her hair back, looking up in time to see Annette giving up on cleaning and leaving the soaking pile of napkins in the middle of the table. The girl falls back into her chair with a huff as tea continues to drip off the table into the grass below. “That’s as good as it’s gonna get.”

Ingrid pauses, then decides not to question it. “But anyway. There’s more,” she says. “She made me an offer of sorts.”

“Oooooooh.”

“Not that kind of offer.” Ingrid corrects, then hesitates, wondering how best to explain the situation. “She asked- well, she proposed that, instead of dispelling these rumors, we, ah, confirm them. Without them actually being real.”

They both stare back at her blankly. 

“She asked if I wanted to pretend to court her so she could make Edelgard jealous. Of me,” Ingrid puts it bluntly, pointedly deciding to not mention the small fact that Dorothea thinks this would make Sylvain jealous as well. 

Mercedes' mouth drops open. Annette has a bit of a crazed look in her eye that Ingrid does not trust. 

“Wow, Ingrid, that’s... Wow.” Annette says. “Are you going to do it?”

“I don’t know. No. I don’t know,” Ingrid sighs. “What do you think?”

“Well, no, I don’t think you should,” Mercedes says tentatively. “I don’t think that could end well for you.”

Ingrid nods. They both turn to Annette, who now has a dreamy, slightly vacant look in her eyes. 

“Well,” Annette says, twirling a lock of her hair around her finger. “Actually, that might not be such a bad idea.” She shares a significant look with Mercedes and then turns her gaze back to Ingrid. 

“What. No. Mercedes is right, it’s a terrible idea. I just wanted to get confirmation.”

A beat. 

“Mercedes, don’t look at me like that.”

“Look at it this way,” Annette continues. “This could be a really nice way to help a friend, and it could also help you move on, once you see firsthand how much Dorothea cares for Lady Edelgard.”

“Ooh, yeah, good point Annie.”

“No, not a good point, there’s-”

“Also,” Annette grins slyly, “We can totally help her fall in love with you if you want.”

Mercedes giggles. 

“No,” Ingrid states forcefully. “Absolutely not. And Annette,” she looks her dead in the eye. “If I do decide to do this against all odds, and I find out that you have told a living soul about this, I will seriously make sure everyone in the Blue Lions knows to never let you have another sweet again.”

As Annette nods somberly back at her, Ingrid fully considers how this plan of Dorothea’s could go. Maybe Annette and Mercedes were right. Besides, Dorothea looked so lovely, so hopeful, so utterly Dorothea the other day when she proposed this plan. She really does have deep and real feelings for Edelgard. If it’ll help her out with wooing her love, who is Ingrid to say? It will be a great favor for a friend, won’t it?

Anyway, Dorothea doesn’t need to know Ingrid has actual feelings for her, right?

Right? 

* * *

The next morning, Ingrid prepares to enter the dining hall for breakfast again. She’s pointedly avoided it for both lunch and dinner the past day, instead sneaking in during its off hours to get some snacks. But, she reasons, if she’s going to do this, she might as well start getting it over with. 

So she gets her usual plate, and takes her usual seat, ignoring the curious stares of everyone around her. She ignores the conversation between Sylvain, Dedue, and Dimitri, concentrating on taking one bite after another. When she finishes, without speaking to anyone, she stands, takes her tray to the cleaning rack, and then takes a breath to steel herself. 

She sets her sights on Dorothea, this time seated with Bernadetta on her left and Leonie and Petra across from her. She marches over, a Knight going into battle, and gently lays a hand on Dorothea’s back. Dorothea turns, and upon seeing Ingrid, a smile lights up her face. She doesn’t say anything, merely cocks one eyebrow at her, as if to say, _So what will it be?_

And Ingrid leans down, voice soft as she speaks directly into Dorothea’s ear. 

“We need to talk.”

* * *

**Coming up: A midnight rendezvous**


	2. A Skirmish of Wit

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "Oh, my dear, you have much to learn if we're going to be able to pull this off." Dorothea laughs. "How you were able to propose to me without breaking character, I'll never know."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey all! Thank you so much for all the kudos and comments on the first chapter. Looking at my work schedule, I realized that publishing on Fridays will be much less stressful for me than Tuesdays, so this chapter is coming a little early, and from now on chapters will be released on Fridays! 
> 
> Thanks for reading!

The library is mostly dark and nearly empty, moonlight shining through the windows, giving bookshelves a pale sheen. Dorothea's heels tap against the tile floor as she searches for Ingrid, wishing they had just done this in Dorothea's room as she had suggested. But, Ingrid, knightly and proper as ever, had protested. 

And, well, Dorothea doesn't much care about being proper, but she does care about their friendship. So, she compromised, and now finds herself in perhaps the last place she'd like to be on a warm Friday night.

She senses Ingrid before she sees her. As Dorothea comes around the corner, she finally spots her. Ingrid, sitting at a table, candlelight illuminating her face and a pile of books surrounding her. 

"Dorothea," Ingrid nods in greeting. 

"Hello, Ingrid," She pulls up a chair. "Working on schoolwork?"

"Not exactly." She leans in closer, whispering, "It's subterfuge. This way people will think we're studying."

"Ah." Dorothea leans back in her chair. "A study date? My, Ingrid, you sure do know how to excite a girl."

At this, a bright red blush floods Ingrid's cheeks. She turns away, busying herself by pulling out a quill and parchment. Honestly, embarrassing her like this is much too easy, Dorothea thinks. And even if this is all an act, she always does love to make a pretty girl blush. 

"Are you really going to write down a list of rules?" she asks teasingly. "Wouldn't a good knight be able to remember their orders?"

"Well. I'm not a knight yet, after all," Ingrid says, not looking up. 

"Fair enough." Dorothea glances around the library. "Do we really even need it all set? I've always been the type of girl to play it by ear."

Ingrid doesn't look up. "Oh, we're definitely making a list, Dorothea."

"All right, darling Ingrid. Anything for you." 

And there’s that blush again. 

“Right. So. I’m still not convinced that this plot of yours is going to work,” Ingrid says. Before Dorothea can protest, she presses on. “Not because it won’t stop the rumors, but because a relationship between you and I is utterly unbelievable.”

Dorothea wonders if she’s imagining the quiver in Ingrid’s voice at that.

“How so?” Dorothea asks. “We’re both ambitious, confident, beautiful women. One might even consider the possibility that we have been together all along.”

“I can tell you why. You, Dorothea, only go after people with money,” Ouch. Dorothea winces a bit at that, _“_ And money is something that I most definitely do not have. Also, my father wants me to marry into nobility to pass on our family crest, and would throw a fit if I were to openly court a commoner.”

“Oh, Ingrid, that’s a solid argument,” Dorothea keeps her voice neutral, playful, trying to hide her small hurt over Ingrid's insinuation that all she cares about is money. Sure, she wants to live comfortably, but marriage is an economic proposition. Love is not. Contrary to the face she puts on to the world, she does hope that someday she can have both. 

Dorothea continues. “However, you’re forgetting two things. One, I don’t just date for money, but for status. Although House Galatea has fallen on more... financially destitute times lately, you’re still one of the most respected and revered families in Faerghus. As for your father, what he doesn’t know won’t hurt him.”

“I don’t think you understand-”

“Listen, Ingrid, I do have connections amongst the Academy staff. I can enlist Manuela to ask the faculty for their discretion. I’m sure she’d love to help her favorite student.”

“I still don’t think-”

“Darling, how long do you think this will go for, anyway? All of this will be long over by the time your father can receive word. Trust me.” She reaches over to pat Ingrid’s hand and Ingrid freezes, jerking away. Well, that was something they would have to work on. For now, though, Dorothea pulls back, opting instead to clasp her hands in front of her.

Ingrid looks at her for a moment, then sighs. “Okay. I trust you.” 

Dorothea smiles. "Good. We'll need to trust each other to pull this off.” 

After a moment’s silence, Dorothea unfolds her hands. She tries again, stretching one arm so it lays across the table, allowing Ingrid to decide whether to bridge the gap. In the pause, there’s a sudden warmth as Ingrid's fingertips just barely brush against hers. 

The library is quiet; all Dorothea can hear is her own breathing and the faint sounds of crickets chirping and students laughing through the open windows.

Then, with a scoot of her chair, Ingrid pulls away, leaning back. Dorothea takes in a quick breath and curls her own hand back, fingertips against her palm.

“So how exactly do we go about this?” Ingrid asks, clearing her throat. “I’ve never really, um, been in a relationship besides Glenn all those years ago, and I'm not actually sure if that counts, so I don’t know much about... courting.” She looks to the side, wincing into the dark recesses of the library. 

“Well,” Dorothea says. Oh, sweet Ingrid. She’s trying so hard. “We should be seen going on dates, and taking tea or strolls through the gardens. If you like, you can start attending choir practice with me, and at group activities or lessons we should sit close to one another so I can place my arm in yours.”

Ingrid nods, scribbling all this down in her neat, small script.

“And,” Dorothea says tentatively. “Every so often, you should sleep over in my room, or I in yours.”

Ingrid looks up, a startled look in her eyes. “No.”

"Ah, but Ingrid, if we had been courting for months-"

Ingrid gives her head a strong shake, that blush crawling down her neck towards the collar of her coat. "No. I'm simply not comfortable with it. We can perhaps find other ways to more subtly imply... intimate relations."

"Oh, my dear, you have much to learn if we're going to go through with this." Dorothea laughs. "How you were able to propose to me without breaking character, I'll never know."

Ingrid sets down her quill. They sit for a moment, Dorothea watching Ingrid, Ingrid watching her hands folded in front of her on the table. Then, she looks up, a smile on her face and a guarded look Dorothea can't quite decipher in her eyes. 

"I would like you to come watch me spar in competitions," Ingrid requests. "If I were to be with someone, I would like them to come see me fight."

"I'll concede to that," Dorothea nods, "If you'll come watch the opera the Academy is putting on in two moon's time." 

Ingrid hesitates. "I'm not much one for the arts-"

"Oh, come on, Ingrid. I believe you can make it through one four-hour show for your _girlfriend_. And I'd enjoy it if you dressed up a bit for it."

"Four hours? I don't even-"

"Oh, don't worry, I know you don't have any nice things to wear. You can borrow a dress of mine. I believe you would look positively dashing in sky blue."

Ingrid huffs, falling silent. "Fine. A deals a deal."

"You're not going to make me sign that, are you?"

"Obviously not. It's not a contract."

"Mm. Could have fooled me."

Ingrid rolls her eyes. "Right. Is there anything else you wish to speak about?"

In her most serious voice, Dorothea says, "Oh yes, darling, one more thing." She leans across the table, taking Ingrid's hands in hers and looking directly into her eyes. "Don't you _dare_ fall in love with me, Ingrid Brandl Galatea." 

Without waiting for a response, Dorothea loudly pushes out her chair and stands, waving a "Goodnight!" over her shoulder as she leaves the room. 

* * *

The next morning, Dorothea knocks on Ferdinand’s door. Over the past few months, the two had taken up an acquaintanceship; they bond over both their joined love for the opera, and their mutual pining over the two heads of their house - though Ferdinand is resolutely in denial about his. They’d recently been cast as the two leads in the opera the academy is performing, _A Princesa e o Plebe,_ Dorothea as the princess who falls in tragic, star-crossed love with the commoner, played by Ferdinand. Dorothea always smiles at the paradoxical nature of their roles, but the more subtle shades of irony go directly over Ferdinand’s head. 

When Ferdinand answers, he stands tall, giving Dorothea a dignified nod. “Congratulations on your engagement, Dorothea,” he says stiffly.

“Oh, Ferdie,” Dorothea laughs, pulling her friend into a hug. “Put a sock in it.” 

He obliges, returning Dorothea’s hug and then pulling away, offering his arm for Dorothea to take, which she does. They begin their walk towards the Cathedral, and Dorothea relaxes in the feeling of warm sunlight on her face and a friend at her side, waving to Caspar and Linhardt as they pass by in the opposite direction. 

"I wondered why it took you so long to congratulate me," Dorothea comments.

"Yes, well, I wanted to make my own confirmations first, you see."

"And why ever is that?"

Ferdinand pauses. “If you will forgive my directness, I was rather surprised to hear of your engagement. Last I had heard, and from your lips, no other, your heart had been rather set on our own Lady Edelgard.” He slides a sly glance from the corner of his eye in Dorothea’s direction. 

“You may be right,” Dorothea concedes. “But can’t I want two people at once?”

“Maybe you can,” Ferdinand sputters. “But it is improper for a noble to engage in such impropriety.” 

And all at once, Dorothea remembers why she and Ferdinand aren’t closer. 

“Then it sure is a good thing I’m not a noble, eh, Ferdie?”

“Most likely for the best,” Ferdinand says, the sarcasm in Dorothea’s reply missing him entirely. "But you would think that Ingrid Galatea of all people-"

"Oh, Edelgard!" Dorothea cuts him off, knowing that to let him continue would be both painful for her to hear, and painful for Ferdinand when she punched him for it. Sure enough, Ferdinand stops speaking, puffing out his chest in the pompous and self-obsessed way he only does whenever Edelgard is around. 

Edelgard pauses, about to step into a classroom. "Ferdinand, Dorothea," she greets, giving them both a nod. "Congratulations on your engagement, Dorothea. It was surprising, and yet I'm quite pleased for you." Those lavender eyes seem to bore into her. Though there appears to be nothing but warmth in them, Dorothea can't shake the feeling that Edelgard knows more about their situation than she's saying.

"Oh, Edie, we're not engaged quite yet," Dorothea corrects. "Merely courting. You know what an exaggerator the professor is. Regardless, thank you for your well wishes." 

Ferdinand seems driven to continue their pace, and so Dorothea turns to glance back at Edelgard as they walk past her. "Don't think I don't have time for your opera anymore, Edie. I have an aria in progress that will certainly pique your interest." She winks over her shoulder, delighted when Edelgard laughs as she turns back around.

After a moment, Dorothea glances behind her again, and grins to herself, biting her lip when she sees Edelgard still perched in the doorway, watching as she and Ferdinand exit the reception hall.

The two let the doors swing shut behind them, boots clacking as they move from the wooden floors of the main Monastery grounds to the paved stone walkway leading up to the Cathedral. 

"How long have you two been courting?” Ferdinand asks as they leave Edelgard’s sight.

"Oh, for a few months. We didn't mean to tell everyone so soon."

"Mm. How did you two get together?"

"Oh, you know. Near the beginning of the school year we got to know each other and just clicked."

All these questions make Dorothea realize - though she and Ingrid have discussed how they can convince people through their actions, they also need to puzzle out their relationship's details so that any questions asked would have definitive answers.

Thank the Goddess Ferdie isn't the suspicious type, Dorothea muses. He seems completely content with Dorothea's short non-answers, as well as genuinely excited for his friend despite his earlier misgivings. 

The two mingle near the pews of the Cathedral, waiting for the others to arrive. One of Ferdinand's greater faults is his need to always be 'punctual,' punctual in this situation meaning showing up at least fifteen minutes before anyone else even left their rooms. Dorothea is of the opposite mindset, often coming to events fashionably late. She supposes she could start coming alone, but Ferdinand is a pleasant walking partner, and so she obliges his quirks. Also, the boy is in desperate need of friends. 

The others start to arrive, sometimes one by one, sometimes in pairs. Hilda arrives with Lorenz and detaches herself almost immediately, rolling her eyes in his direction and pointing a finger in her mouth as if to gag herself when Lorenz isn't looking as she comes to join Ferdinand and Dorothea's conversation. 

Caspar shows up, and Dorothea is once again confused as to why exactly he's here. He absolutely cannot hold a tune, but, Manuela, in her good graces, still allows him to participate. He is often placed in the front row near the center, partly because of his smaller than average height, mostly so nobody else can hear him sing and be pulled off tune. Caspar thinks it's because he's that extraordinary of a singer. Dorothea is too kind to tell him otherwise. 

One of the last to arrive is Annette Dominic, right on the hour. This is early for Annette, Dorothea notes, as she usually rushes in with apologies to take her spot halfway through warmups. Dorothea waves, knowing Annette is good friends with Ingrid, but Annette, instead of waving back, lets out a rather Bernadetta-like squeak. She moves to hide behind Lorenz, who shifts to the side with a scoff and a steadying hand on Annette's shoulder.

Huh. If she cared more, Dorothea reckons, she would ask Annette what’s the matter. Instead, she turns back to Ferdinand and Hilda to overhear the latter trying to convince Ferdie that she really _doesn't_ know how to make tea. Her ever-trusting friend sits there slack-jawed as Hilda protests that no, she never measures the amount of leaves to add to the bag. 

Dorothea tunes back out of their conversation in time to catch Manuela's eye as she enters the main Cathedral from the Saint Statue's room. Manuela blows a kiss at her, and Dorothea grins. In truth, Dorothea would probably not be a member of the choir at Garreg Mach if it weren't for Professor Manuela. It’s an amateur choir, so different from her past years as a member of the Opera, and though she enjoys the shows they put on as a company, and the idea that she can participate in her passion for singing without the stress of having to be better than everyone around her, part of her does miss the competition of it all. 

Choir is uneventful - they work on the vocal parts of a sextet paired with a chorus number for _Princesa_ , and though Dorothea cringes at Caspar's attempts to be a convincing baritone, she can't help but feel a sense of camaraderie with all the students here. 

After choir, Manuela asks Dorothea and Ferdinand to stay behind to discuss extra rehearsal times for the two leads. Ferdinand's nose turns up with an arrogant smirk when Manuela announces this, and Dorothea resists an overwhelming urge to slap him. 

After the three have set up times that coordinate with all of their schedules, Dorothea lingers with an, _‘Oh, yes, Ferdie, I have a tea appointment after this. Please carry on without me,’_ to speak with her mentor.

"Manuela," Dorothea starts.

She looks up from the stack of sheet music she’s organizing on the back of a pew. "Oh, hello, darling. Is there something more you needed?”

“I wanted to ask a favor,” Dorothea says, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear. “About Ingrid and I.”

Manuela sets the papers on the bench below and turns her full attention towards Dorothea. “Ah, Dotty, I didn’t get to wish you congratulations before practice,” she winks. “Good catch.”

“Thanks,” Dorothea says, feeling very warm under her uniform jacket. She tugs her sleeves up her forearms further, feeling nervous. It isn’t that she doesn’t think Manuela won’t honor her request, no, Manuela, more than anyone, will understand the need for circumspection in a relationship. However, Dorothea has never been anything but honest with Manuela in the entirety of their relationship, and she feels uncomfortable lying to her in a way that she rarely feels when lying to others.

“The thing is,” Dorothea continues. “Ingrid’s father is... unaware of our courtship.”

Manuela nods. 

“Could you maybe ask the staff for their discretion? Just for awhile? Until we get on our feet a bit more?” Dorothea squeezes her eyes shut. “The rumors just spread so quickly, way faster than we meant them to, and Ingrid isn’t as used to it yet-”

“Of course, my dear,” Manuela cuts her off. “You don’t have to explain it to me at all.”

Dorothea lets out a sigh of relief as Manuela wraps her into a brief, tight hug, then holds her out at arm’s length. 

“It’s very sweet of you to be concerned for Ingrid that much.” Manuela says. “It’s clear to me how much you care about her.”

And Dorothea can’t deny it, _Not without spoiling the plan!_ she tells herself. But the memory of Ingrid last night, fingertips pressed against hers in the briefest of brushes, flits through her mind.

Dorothea and Manuela make idle chatter about the show, before Manuela excuses herself for a faculty meeting. Dorothea intends to go back to her room, or perhaps seek out Edelgard for tea, when she hears a familiar shout as she crosses the bridge from the Cathedral to the main campus of the monastery. 

“Dorothea!” Hilda calls, holding up a hand and rolling her eyes at the dirty looks the priests are giving her for the noise. 

Without waiting for a reply, Hilda walks over to her, pulling her friend into a hug and a kiss on the cheek.

“Goddess, finally. I thought you’d be talking to Professor Manuela forever,” she scrunches up her nose. “Congrats on the smoking hot girlfriend," 

“Why thank you, Hilda.” Dorothea smiles back. She and Hilda have always gotten along - they bonded near the beginning of the school year over their shared love for fashion and singing.

“Quick question,” Hilda says as she takes Dorothea's arm and they continue the sunny walk towards the main monastery. “Me and _my_ smoking hot girlfriend were talking about you two yesterday. How's dinner in town sound tonight? Leonie's in if Ingrid is.” 

Dorothea considers this for a moment. Though she is good friends with Hilda, the few interactions she has had with Leonie has led her to believe that the other girl’s brash, rough charm, while so complementary to Hilda's personality, doesn’t much appeal to Dorothea. Besides, she isn't sure if Ingrid even knows either of them except by name.

But, she reasons, she doesn’t really have a good reason to decline - both Hilda and Leonie would see through any weak excuse. She also does want to spend time with Hilda, and maybe introduce her to Ingrid a bit. 

_Flames_ , she thinks. _It's not as if Ingrid's actually my girlfriend. There isn't any pressing reason why she should meet my friends._

But in any case, she and Ingrid do need to practice acting like a couple in public. Nobody is going to believe this farce, Edelgard and Sylvain especially, if they never make appearances in public together. 

“Sounds fun, Hilda.”

"Fuck yeah. Does six thirty work?"

“Sure thing. I’ll talk to Ingrid in a bit and I’m sure she’ll be excited.” 

“She better be,” Hilda says. “I should go confirm with Leonie. You know her, she'll be pumped, probably squeeze my arms off. The usual.” She pulls her arm from Dorothea's, waving as they reach the reception hall and she heads in the direction of the training grounds, where Leonie, undoubtedly, is.

Dorothea sighs to herself. This should be a fun night - if anything, she'll get to catch up with Hilda, and she and Ingrid can rehearse their relationship. What could go wrong?

* * *

**Coming up: Two Golden Deer, one Blue Lion, and one Black Eagle walk into a bar. Also, ring of keys.**


	3. Some Cupid

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "I may be wrong, but I think that a part of you is doing this for yourself, too.” Mercedes shifts on the bed. “It’s okay for you to admit that to me, if you want. It might help to get it off your chest.” 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Happy Valentine's Day! Best holiday of the year imo. Super glad I'm ahead on writing this fic as all of yesterday was dedicated to playing the new DLC. What did you all think?
> 
> Thanks again for all the kudos and the kind comments on chapter 2 -- I'm a bit shy and it's sometimes hard for me to respond but know I read them and I'm so happy people are enjoying the story! Here's to hoping everyone has a good holiday <3

Ingrid pushes through a group of students, book bag slung across her back, attempting to catch Sylvain’s attention. He’s leaning against a pillar just outside the Black Eagles classroom, running his hands through his hair as he talks to a pretty brunette girl Ingrid has seen around the Academy. 

“Come with me,” Ingrid says.

Without waiting for a reply, she grabs his arm and begins to pull him away, rolling her eyes as he stumbles over his feet and turns to yell, “I promise I’ll be right back!” to the girl. Ingrid pretends not to notice as he points to her and mouths,  _ She’s crazy,  _ to the brunette. She has more important things on her mind. 

“Ingrid, you know if you want a turn all you have to do is ask.” Sylvain says as they come to a stop in the corner near a turret in the wall. He leans in conspiratorially, voice low and faux-seductive. “I  _ always _ have time for you.”

Silence. Sylvain leans back. 

“Anyway,” Ingrid says flatly. “There’s something I need to tell you.” 

Sylvain cocks an eyebrow. 

“Dorothea and I, well, what I mean to say is, our relationship is fake.” The words come out of Ingrid in a panicked rush. Sylvain doesn’t answer, just looks at her, brow furrowed as if trying to process the words. 

She takes a deep breath, forcing herself to slow down. “Sylvain. She loves Lady Edelgard and thinks that I love you. We’re doing this because she thinks seeing me with her will make you jealous.”

Sylvain stares at her for a moment, then turns away, rubbing his jaw with one hand before letting it drop. Then, he bursts into laughter, leaning back against the wall.

“You? And me?,” He says in between breaths. 

“Right? That’s what I said!”

“But are you even attracted to men?”

“No. Or, I don’t know. I don't think so.”

He pauses, wiping tears from , the corners of his eyes. "Oh, this is too funny."

"It really, truly, isn't, Sylvain."

"Dorothea's usually so good at this, but how could she think-"

"I have no idea."

The two stare at each other for a moment. Ingrid crosses and then uncrosses her arms, thinking.

"Can you help me out with this?" she finally asks, throwing her arms into the air. 

He stares at her, running one hand through his hair. She's not expecting it when he replies, in the slightly timid way that means he’s being serious about something, "Are you sure this is a good idea, Ingrid? I'd hate for you to get hurt over this."

She scoffs. "It's weird seeing emotions from you, Sylvain. Let me worry about it; I'm not going to let it go that far."

"Hm. Good enough for me. So how can I help?"

"Well-"

"Wait, actually." Sylvain taps his chin with one finger. "I know more about this than you.” Ingrid flushes angrily at this, but he continues, “I could probably just glare at Dorothea sometimes and like, stare at your ass when you walk by me?"

Ingrid considers this for a moment. It was a fair offer, much better than the one she had come up with on her own. "Yes, actually, that sounds good. Thanks, Sylvain. I appreciate it."

"Yeah, yeah, of course." He lays a hand on her shoulder, leaning in close again. "Just one thing, Ingrid."

"What."

"Under absolutely no circumstances can you fall in love with me."

Goddess. That was two requests for her not to fall in love in a week. Ingrid shoves his hand off of her shoulder, giving a very curt, " _ Goodbye _ , Sylvain," as she walks away. 

"I just don't want it to get awkward between us, you know," Sylvain calls after her.

Ingrid flips a rude gesture over her shoulder, ignoring Sylvain's final, dramatic, "Oh, Ingrid, my love, how you wound me."

* * *

After lunch that afternoon, Ingrid is unexpectedly pulled out of the flow of students exiting the dining hall. She turns and nearly bumps into Dorothea, who is standing much too close, back against the wall near the exit. 

Ingrid stiffens, taking the smallest of steps back. Instinctively, she starts to pull her hand out of Dorothea's, but the other girl tightens her hold, raising an eyebrow. 

Right, this is their reality now. Holding hands and standing so close together that Ingrid can see the flecks of gray in Dorothea's green eyes and smell her rose perfume and, oh, Goddess-

She bites her lip. 

"So," Dorothea says.

"So."

"I accepted a dinner invitation with Hilda and Leonie for tonight."

"Okay." Ingrid looks at her. "And?"

Dorothea raises the hand not currently held by Ingrid's up to brush across her arm. "For both of us, silly. It's a couple's outing."

Ingrid purses her lips.  _ Think, Ingrid, think _ . She could have sworn she has something else happening tonight, but with Dorothea standing so close, pink lips slightly parted and oh, how Ingrid can stare at her for hours—"Sparring! With Dimitri, I mean, His Highness," Ingrid blurts, turning her gaze back to Dorothea’s eyes. She feels her cheeks heat up at Dorothea’s smug smile, and, damnit, she definitely noticed her staring at her lips. "I'm sparring with His Highness tonight in preparation for Eagle and Lion and-"

"Oh, Dimi will understand, I'm sure," Dorothea smiles. "Felix always wants to practice, doesn't he? Can't he just spar with him?"

Ingrid bites her lip, and Dorothea must see the indecisiveness in her gaze, because she brings their joined hands to her face, placing a gentle kiss on Ingrid's knuckles.

Ingrid glances around at the curious faces of lingering students before turning back to hear Dorothea ask softly, lips brushing against Ingrid’s hand, "Please, darling Ingrid? For me?"

Ingrid takes a step closer. 

She swallows. 

"Okay," she breathes, and Dorothea smiles, finally dropping Ingrid's hand. Ingrid flexes it, tucking it behind her back and scrubbing the spot Dorothea had kissed with the thumb of the opposite hand. Whether to erase the memory, or to seal it into her skin, she can't say. 

"Wonderful!” Dorothea grins, and the moment is broken. "Oh, while I have you here, we have more things to discuss. Join me?” She takes Ingrid’s arm in hers and pulls her out of the dining hall, towards the stables. Ingrid could in all actuality, pull herself out of Dorothea’s grip easily, but she finds herself being pulled along, not minding the way Dorothea’s hand is wrapped around her wrist.

“Um,” Ingrid tries to say,  _ What the fuck are you doing _ , but can’t get the words out before Dorothea pulls her into an empty stall. 

“What the f-,”

“There’s things we forgot to discuss the other night in the library, and I figured we wouldn’t want to be anywhere where we’d possibly be overheard,” Dorothea explains quickly, turning back to face her.

“Okay,” Ingrid says, drawing the word out. “Dorothea, you could have told me that.”

“Yes, that’s why I’m telling you now,” Dorothea smiles sweetly, and Ingrid resists the urge to use her special eyeroll she typically reserves for Sylvain.

“Ferdie was asking questions,” Dorothea continues. “He hardly listened to the answers, and was satisfied with what I gave him - he’s a few spells short of a tome, if you catch my drift - but if we’re not careful, a more observant person could put too many pieces together.

“We need to discuss and decide on a few things, like, who made the first move,” Ingrid’s cheeks heat at this, “when we got together, why we didn’t tell anyone, you know, just basic relationship stuff.”

Ingrid takes Dorothea’s word for it. She clears her throat. “So where do we start? Who made the first move?”

“Well,” Dorothea thinks for a moment. “I was thinking since you did fake-propose to me, you awkward duck, we could say it was you. A few months ago, maybe when I was assisting your class for that one mission at the start of the year?”

Ingrid stiffens at the mention of the proposal, and she rubs the back of her neck with one hand, looking anywhere but Dorothea. “Yeah, that sounds good. Great Tree Moon, right?”

“Exactly.”

“Maybe for a first date,” Ingrid racks her mind. “We could say it was dinner and a show in town?”

“Oh, Ingrid, you romantic.” Dorothea bats her arm with her hand. “You sure know how to treat a girl right. Unfortunately, that’s much too public for a secret date. But, if you want, I would absolutely love to do that with you on another day.”

Ingrid glances at her, smiling with a rosy tint on her cheeks. She tries to subtly wipe her damp palms on her breeches, ignoring the butterflies chariot racing in the pit of her stomach. “Right, well. Yes. We can organize that so people see us when we go. Maybe for our first date, we could say it was a picnic? There’s a, uh, lovely prairie a bit east of the Monastery, I don’t know if you’ve been.”

“Oh, I’ve been.”

“ _ Dorothea _ .”

“But, yes, my Ingrid, that sounds wonderful. Very romantic and definitely secluded enough.”

“Great.”

“I figure that we can use the truth as to why we’re not telling anyone - that your father would have a bit of a meltdown over you dating a commoner, and a poor one at that.” 

“He wouldn’t  _ ‘melt down _ ,’” Ingrid corrects. “He would simply disapprove. But, yes, that’s as good a reason as any. Anything else?” 

Dorothea thinks for a moment. “Oh, when was our first kiss?”

Ingrid blinks. She starts to speak, then stops. 

“Maybe during our first date?,” Dorothea says, gazing at the ceiling with a thoughtful look on her face. “We pop open a bottle of champagne, I pour you a glass, you turn to me and I ask if that’s enough and then we both lean in-,”

“Yes, that sounds great,” Ingrid cuts her off quickly, hoping that Dorothea doesn’t notice that her voice has risen a few octaves. She tugs on the sleeves of her uniform coat. “First date. Got it.”

“Are you all right, my Ingrid?” 

Ingrid’s mind scrambles, looking for any reason to be nervous other than the fact that Dorothea has just come up with a fantasy Ingrid will definitely be thinking about that night. She decides on a fact that, even if it’s not The Truth, is certainly a truth. “It’s just... I’ve never kissed anyone before.” Once again, she can’t look Dorothea in the eye. 

Dorothea is silent for a moment. “Not even Glenn?” she asks after the beat has passed, and of all the things Ingrid thought she’d say, this isn’t it. It does help with her anxiety, though, and her muscles relax as she gives a slight laugh. 

“Dorothea, I was twelve years old,” Ingrid says. “Even if we were friends, even if we could have had something,”  _ Not likely, _ she thinks, _ As he is a man, and since then I’ve become quite certain I don’t like men, anyway _ , “Our parents would have never expected us to do more than a peck on the cheek at that age.”

“Point,” Dorothea says. 

Ingrid doesn’t quite know how to continue. “So, yeah. It’s just something to keep in mind, for if or when the time comes.” 

Dorothea takes a small step closer. “Ingrid,” she says. 

“Dorothea.” 

“You know it’ll look awful if you attempt to have your first kiss in public, right? When we’ve supposedly been sucking face for months?”

“Er, not the term I would use, but no, I didn’t. It’s just kissing.” 

“Right, well, It won’t do. There’s only one solution for this.” Dorothea gets a mischievous look in her eye Ingrid knows far too well. She pulls her long brown hair behind her shoulders and then places both hands around Ingrid’s neck. 

“What are you doing?” Ingrid asks, frozen and frantic. Her gaze goes to Dorothea’s lips, then to the hand on her shoulder, ring glinting, then back up to her eyes. 

“Ingrid, we should kiss right now. For practice.” Dorothea looks much too excited about this, Ingrid thinks. 

That thought must show on her face, too, because Dorothea’s arms drop. “Oh, come on, my Ingrid. The first time’ll look bad if we don’t, and besides,” she smiles, “It’s always good to have your first kiss with a friend, that way when you kiss someone you  _ really _ like you’ll be ready.”

Well, what a sorry sort of irony that was.

Ingrid considers. Does she need practice? She’s still unsure, but Dorothea is supposed to be the expert and probably knows better. Will it be incredibly awkward? Most likely, yes. Does she want to kiss Dorothea? Desperately. 

And it’s the third question and answer that frighten her. If she’s participating in this farce to get over her crush, she knows this is not the way to go about it. This isn't even close to the realm of reasonable behavior. She shouldn’t do this. Instead, she should go run up to her room, and take a cold bath. Oh, yes, a nice, bitterly freezing bath would put her back in her senses. 

“Okay,” she says instead. “Okay.” 

Dorothea lets out an excited little squeal and then calms, looking directly at Ingrid and taking a step closer. She places her hands on Ingrid’s shoulders again. Ingrid looks back at her, lifting her arms and gently, feather-soft, places her hands on Dorothea's waist. 

The two stand there for a moment, simply staring at each other, the world silent except for the shuffling of horses in their stalls. The light from a window across from them hits Dorothea’s face perfectly, Ingrid observes. Her dark hair is chestnut in the sunlight, her eyelashes casting small shadows on her cheeks when she blinks. 

“Well,” Dorothea breaks Ingrid out of her thoughts. “Are you going to kiss me, or what?”

Ingrid looks back at her, then glances at her mouth. Without giving it another thought, she leans in and closes the space between them. 

She misses at first, instead planting a kiss on the corner of Dorothea’s lips, at the spot where cheek, chin, and mouth all meet. Ingrid moves her hands to Dorothea’s face, thumbs grazing her cheekbones as she turns her head towards her own. Dorothea moves her hands to Ingrid's waist, and this time, Ingrid’s right on target as she brings their lips together. 

The kiss is chaste and shallow, what with Ingrid figuring out where best to place her lips, learning what angle to tilt her head at, discovering how often she has to remind herself to breathe out of her nose. But after a moment, Ingrid finds her rhythm and takes a step closer so they’re standing chest to chest. She turns her head to deepen the kiss, one hand reaching out to tuck a lock of Dorothea’s hair behind her ear and then sliding to rest against her neck. Dorothea wraps her arms closer around Ingrid’s waist, trailing a small circle on her lower back. Ingrid’s breath hitches against her will. At the sound, Dorothea pulls away. 

The two stare at each other for a moment, still close enough for Ingrid to feel Dorothea’s breath on her lips. 

“Well,” Dorothea smiles, and her cheeks under Ingrid’s hands are dark pink, her mouth a similar color. 

“Well.” 

Ingrid glances at her hands, still cradling Dorothea’s face, and quickly pulls them back to her side, taking a step back to put more space between them. She can see pale indents on pink skin where her fingers had been just moments before. 

“Thanks for the help, I guess.” Ingrid looks away, shifting uncomfortably. 

She watches out of the corner of her eye as Dorothea smooths down her uniform skirt and picks a stray piece of straw out of her tights. “Of course, darling.”

They stand in silence for just a moment, but it's enough. Ingrid feels as though she could cut the uncomfortable tension in the room with a knife. Her heart pulls her towards Dorothea, begging her to ask if they can practice more.

She knows she shouldn’t. She knows this is undermining everything. But, for the first time, as she watches Dorothea nervously tuck that same strand of hair behind her ear that Ingrid had touched just minutes before, she’s wondering if her reasoning for doing this farce is entirely sound. After kissing Dorothea, after being close enough to touch her face and feel their mingled breaths, something inside her keeps swelling. 

And that just won’t do. 

Ingrid glances back at Dorothea to see her watching her. Ingrid blinks. 

“Well,” Dorothea repeats. 

“Well.”

“I would invite you to practice a little more,” Dorothea winks, and Ingrid swallows, her chest tightening. “But, tragically, I did agree to take tea with Professor Byleth before afternoon classes.”

Ingrid tries to ignore how she deflates at this. 

“You know, though,” Dorothea says. “You weren’t half bad for that being your first time. When we’re required to kiss in public, I just know you’ll be able to pull it off.” She reaches out a hand to give Ingrid’s arm a squeeze. 

“Good to know,” she replies, arm twitching where Dorothea had just touched it. 

“So, can I meet you at your room at six tonight?” Dorothea asks. “For dinner with Hilda and Leonie, I mean.” 

"Right. Yes. Good."

A beat. 

"I should, um, go get in some training, then, since I'm canceling on His Highness."

"Oh, Ingrid, you're always so on top of things. But you're right, and I have my tea to get to."

As Ingrid walks to the training grounds; however, she knows sparring will be a waste of time. Her fingers trail over her lips again and again, mind on nothing but how they felt pressed into Dorothea's, the feeling of Dorothea's breath on her cheek, and the way her hands burned into her waist, like a brand marking Ingrid as hers.

* * *

That evening, Ingrid looks up from her work at a knock at her door. Dorothea isn’t due for another hour, and Ingrid doesn’t reckon that she’s the type of person to be this early. Before she can decide whether to get up from where she sits at her desk to answer, the door opens on its own. 

Mercedes steps into the room, a small satchel in her hand. “Ingrid, why didn’t you tell me about your date?” Her friend’s voice is as passive as ever, but by the way her face is pinched together, Ingrid can tell that she’s upset.

“Oh, Mercedes. Come in, I guess. I didn’t do it purposely, it only just happened and I haven’t seen you, that’s why.” That seems to satisfy Mercedes, and the crease between her brow softens. Ingrid pauses, then asks, “Wait, how did you even find out about it?”

“Oh, you know. Word gets around.” Mercedes waves off the question, and Ingrid sighs. This is what they wanted, isn’t it? For everyone to know, so the rumor mill wouldn’t have anything at all to speculate on.

Ingrid turns back to her desk, hoping that this is the end of it, but Mercedes presses on. 

“What are you wearing for the date?” she asks, walking over to sit on the edge of Ingrid’s bed. 

Ingrid looks down at her outfit. She’s wearing her uniform breeches, but has traded out the Academy shirtsleeves and coat for a pale blue long-sleeve blouse, billowy, but bunched at the waist and wrists. 

“Um, this?” She gestures at her outfit uncomfortably, turning her chair to face Mercedes as she  _ tsk _ ’s and gives her head a little shake.

“Oh, Ingrid. Not even a dress? No makeup?” Mercedes’ eyes are wide in a way that reminds Ingrid too much of her older sister as she shakes her head at her. 

“Well, no. I don’t wear makeup normally, nor do I own any. And I own a single dress that I only wear for very specific occasions.”

“Oh, Ingrid.”

“I prefer breeches, Mercedes. Dorothea knows that. I doubt she’ll be-”

Mercedes shifts down the side of the bed, moving closer and reaching for her satchel with one hand and Ingrid’s face with the other. “Ingrid, a date is a special occasion. Dorothea will love it if you put on just a little bit of-”

“Dorothea won’t care, Mercedes. It’s not even a, it’s not even a real date.” Ingrid leans out of her reach, hating the way her voice wavers on the word real. 

Mercedes regards her for a moment. 

“What?”

“I’m worried for you.” she says, voice soft and airy. “I don’t know if this is the best idea.”

Ingrid frowns at her. 

“I don’t want you to break your own heart, and I don’t want someone as kind as Dorothea to break it either, especially if she doesn’t know she’s doing it in the first place.”

Ingrid sets her jaw and turns her chair back towards her desk. “Mercedes, you and Annette were the ones to convince me of this in the first place. I don’t know why you’re saying this now. In any case, I want to do it. I’m just helping a friend.” 

“If you say so. I may be wrong, but I think that a part of you is doing this for yourself, too.” Mercedes shifts on the bed. “It’s okay for you to admit that to me, if you want. It might help to get it off your chest.” 

Ingrid swallows. Goddess, that was another one of Mercedes’ uncanny skills. Her ability to cut straight through people’s walls without ever giving any indication that she was doing so until afterwards was almost frightening. 

She takes her time answering, staring blankly at her notes from Professor Hanneman’s seminar that she had been studying before Mercedes came over. Mercedes, ever so patient, waits in silence, but Ingrid can feel her wide-eyed gaze on the back of her neck. 

Finally, she turns her chair back around. 

“Fine,” she grits her teeth, not wanting to say it. “Maybe I want to do it for myself, too. Just to see what it would feel like.” 

“Hm,” Mercedes says. “Ingrid, I will never judge you for that. I just want you to be careful. I know Dorothea’s using you for Edelgard’s attentions, but I don’t want you using Dorothea for your own, especially since she thinks you’re doing it for Sylvain.” 

“That’s not going to happen,” Ingrid assures her. 

“All right, I believe you,” Mercedes concedes. “Now,” she pulls the satchel she brought with her onto her lap. “I knew ahead of time you don’t own any makeup, so I brought some with me. Our complexions are similar enough in base, but maybe just blush and eyeshadow...” Ingrid tunes out as she starts talking about cool and warm skin tones and oh, it’s too bad the foundation won’t work because it’ll make Ingrid look like she can't get enough air.

“Mercedes,” Ingrid cuts her off as she begins to segue into the different palettes she could apply to Ingrid’s eyelids that would compliment her outfit. “I really don’t want to wear any makeup. It’s okay.”

Mercedes just stares at her. 

Ingrid sighs.

She truly doesn’t know how Mercedes and Annette do it every day, she thinks, as Mercedes walks over to Ingrid’s dresser and begins to pull out clothing, putting pieces together and then shaking or nodding her head and moving them to separate piles. Ingrid looks on, only attempting to look disinterested. Some of the outfits do seem to be more her style, she notices, and maybe it would be nice to put effort into her appearance a bit more for once.

Mercedes does continue to try to get her to put makeup on, Ingrid shrieking goodnaturedly as she pushes her away when Mercedes almost attacks her with something that she calls an eyelash curler, but, in Ingrid’s opinion, looks more like something used to carve  _ out _ someone’s eye. Mercedes is surprisingly strong, Ingrid reckons as she fends her off, when she wants to be. 

She shakes her head profusely at most of the outfits Mercedes has put together, most of them too airy, too warm, too confining, too loose, too feminine. Mercedes slyly continues to suggest the dress, and Ingrid eventually just stops replying when she does.

Eventually, they compromise. Ingrid wears a pair of navy breeches she had forgotten existed until Mercedes procured them from the bottom of her dresser, the same sky blue shirt, and she had eventually been convinced to line her eyes with thin lines of dark blue makeup. It actually had the effect Ingrid wished most makeup had on her. Her cheekbones appeared sharper and her nose more prominent; her face, as a whole, more masculine. 

“Oh, Ingrid, you look ethereal,” Mercedes clasps her hands in front of her, and Ingrid can’t help but blush. “Let me rebraid your hair.”

Ingrid lets her, knowing that Mercedes can do it better than she ever does. When Ingrid braids, it’s for functionality, and wisps often escape and stick to her face when it’s sweaty from training. When Mercedes braids her hair, on the rare occasions she does, the braid always ends up being beautiful and even, laying across her back with no bumps or ridges on her scalp. 

“How are you feeling?” Mercedes asks softly, hands gently raking Ingrid’s hair back into one part. 

“I’m alright.” She closes her eyes, allowing herself to relax for a moment in the feeling of gentle fingers combing through her hair. 

“Are you, really?”

“I’m nervous,” she admits under her breath. “I tried to ask Sylvain earlier for advice on what to do-”

“Oh, that can’t have gone well,” Mercedes giggles. 

“It did not,” Ingrid confirms. “He mostly just said to push her up against a wall and get her to forget Leonie and Hilda.”

“Sure, sure. That sounds like Sylvain,” Mercedes says. “I think you’re going to do marvelously, Ingrid. You’re such a kind and good person, and Dorothea will make sure you’re okay. Hilda and Leonie are nice girls, too. It’ll be good for you.”

“You sound so sure.”

“Oh, I’m not,” she smiles down at Ingrid, beginning the braid with deft, concise movements. “But I do know you, Ingrid.”

Ingrid opens her eyes, smiling back. 

“Now lean forward so I can finish the braid,” she instructs, and Ingrid complies. 

When Mercedes is finished, she retrieves her bag of makeup from Ingrid’s bed, and, with a kiss on the cheek and a final wish of luck, leaves her to stew for the twenty minutes before six. 

Ingrid looks at herself in the mirror. She has to admit, Mercedes did a good job. A great job, even. She looks- no, pretty isn’t the word she’s looking for, Ingrid thinks as she turns from side to side, trying to see herself from every angle. She tries to find a word that describes how she feels, and settles on, simply, good. It’s not the most specific descriptor, but it’s as close as Ingrid can get to describing the tumultuous feelings rising up in her at the sight of herself dressed and put together in such a way, so different from the academy uniforms and the casually thrown together outfits she wears on days off. 

Maybe this evening won’t be a nightmare, after all. 

* * *

Dorothea doesn’t know how she feels about this date tonight. She loves Hilda dearly, but Leonie is a wild card. Ingrid, well, Ingrid is a nice and pretty girl, certainly, and a good friend, but seems strangely awkward around Dorothea lately in a way that she doesn’t know how to react to. Regardless, she has decided to make the most of it. Maybe Edelgard will hear about it, and Sylvain definitely would. 

She knocks on Ingrid’s door, fluffing her hair a bit while waiting for her to answer. Instead, she hears a “Come in,” and so she pushes into the room, smiling warmly at Ingrid. She is sitting on the very edge of her bed, trying and failing not to look anxious, with her hands clasped in front of her. 

It’s so cute, Dorothea almost wants to laugh. 

Ingrid stands, and jerks her body in a way that Dorothea thinks is supposed to represent a bow, or maybe a curtsy? “Hello, Dorothea.”

This time, Dorothea does laugh. “My, Ingrid, I’m not the King of Faerghus and you’re not a knight quite yet. Enough of that, it’s just a date.” Ingrid’s face turns bright red, and Dorothea pretends not to notice. “Hilda and Leonie are meeting us in front of the marketplace; shall we?” 

Ingrid lets out a nervous laugh. “Hah, ready as I’ll ever be.”

“Oh, don’t stress about it, darling. I know it’ll be fun. You won’t miss sparring with Dimi for a second.” Dorothea reaches to take her arm, and Ingrid freezes. 

She pauses for a moment. “You okay there?”

Ingrid lets out a breath. “Yes, fine, sorry. I’m just not used to... touching.” She winces at her own words, but holds out her arm for a second try. 

Dorothea tucks her hand into the corner of Ingrid’s elbow and gives her upper arm a little squeeze. “Damn, Ingrid. You’re hiding some real muscles under those uniforms.”

She’s quite amused at the way Ingrid’s blush crawls down her neck at that.

They make small talk as they walk arm in arm towards the marketplace. The discussion of their favorite drinks, for Dorothea, coffee, and for Ingrid, a cold glass of milk, is cut short when Dorothea spots Hilda. She calls out to her friend with a wave. 

Dorothea lets go of Ingrid’s arm to give Hilda a kiss on the cheek, noticing Ingrid politely greeting Leonie out of the corner of her eye and Leonie grasping her hand, shaking it energetically in turn. 

“Oh, come here, sweet thing.” Hilda says to Ingrid, leaning in to kiss her cheek as well.

“Don’t forget about me, Hilda,” Leonie says, cheerfully annoyed, as Hilda laughs and leans in to kiss her girlfriend’s cheek in a much softer and more romantic way than she did the other two girls. 

The four begin the walk to town. Leonie and Hilda hold hands, but it still surprises Dorothea when she feels Ingrid’s hand slide down her forearm and into hers. Dorothea smiles at her, brushing her thumb against Ingrid’s wrist as she shifts so their fingers are interlocked. 

Dorothea glances over at Ingrid a few times while she chats with Hilda. Leonie interjects in the other girls’ conversation every once and awhile, but it doesn’t appear as though Ingrid is entirely comfortable, or even paying attention. Rather than participate, she watches the people passing in the other direction, the sky, the ground, anything but the other three. 

Until Leonie pulls her hand out of Hilda’s with a swift kiss on her cheek and moves to the other side of the group to stand beside Ingrid. “You ride a pegasus, right?” she asks. “I ride horses but I’ve always wondered how different it is. What’s your mount’s name?”

Ingrid flushes, and Dorothea can feel her grip on her hand tighten for a moment. “I can’t afford my own, so I use one of the school's,” she mumbles.

“Oh, me too,” Leonie says, bumping her shoulder against Ingrid’s in a show of solidarity. “I could barely scrape together enough to come to school, anyway, and it feels so wasteful to take up another space in the stables when there’s perfectly good horses there. Sometimes, though, Captain Jeralt lets me take his horse, Storm, on missions and...”

Dorothea turns her attention back to Hilda, who’s watching Leonie and Ingrid talk. Hilda turns to Dorothea, too, and glances down at she and Ingrid’s joined hands. 

“Nice,” she says. “I gotta admit, I was surprised when Sylvain won that bet. I would’ve thought you’d tell me if you started dating someone seriously.” 

“Oh, Hilda, shush,” Dorothea says, and Hilda grins. “We didn't tell anyone.”

“Yeah, yeah, I know. It’s a big ol’ secret.” Hilda pauses. “Ingrid’s father’s pretty strict about her only dating nobility, huh?”

Dorothea nods. At least Sylvain is a noble, she reckons. She would feel bad if Ingrid truly had to go against her father’s wishes, even if it would do the girl some good to have a rebellious phase. 

The town outside Garreg Mach holds a variety of foods from all three territories of F ó dlan and beyond, and the four settle on a restaurant that serves Eastern Alliance food. As they walk in, Hilda calls out a greeting to two people who Dorothea can only guess are the owners, throwing a “they used to work for House Goneril” at the others over her shoulder, and the three begin to converse. Even Leonie joins a bit of the conversation, speaking much more tentatively than she had earlier in the evening. 

Dorothea turns to Ingrid while the other two girls talk. “You doing okay, there?”

Ingrid smiles. “Yeah. I’m all right. Leonie’s interesting, and we’re probably going to find a time to spar later.”

“Ooh, how exciting.”

“Yeah,” Ingrid repeats. Dorothea follows her gaze and sees her staring at Leonie and her outfit, a casual daywear ensemble with breeches, a vest and a crisp white shirt. 

Without turning back to Dorothea, Ingrid says, “I like the way she dresses.”

“Hm?”

“I don’t know,” she laughs slightly, turning back to her date. “It’s just very...”

“Dapper? Handsome?”

“Yeah.”

“Well, I do love myself a handsome woman. Nice to know you do, too,” Dorothea nudges her side and grins. 

Ingrid pulls her hand out of Dorothea’s, and Dorothea finds herself missing the warmth of it. “Hey, I’ve been thinking-” Ingrid starts, but the sound of Leonie calling them both over cuts them off. 

“Later?” Dorothea offers. 

“Later.” Ingrid confirms, offering a little smile Dorothea is starting to recognize as her most sincere, apart from her adorable face-breaking grin. But those occur so rarely, Dorothea has only seen her make one once.

The four slide into benches around a low table, Dorothea and Hilda across from each other with their partners (or, fake partners) beside them. They all laugh as Hilda offers to pick out what to order for them, and Ingrid and Leonie both eagerly listen to her recommendations; Dorothea watches, her hand resting lightly on her own leg, pinky resting in the place where she and Ingrid’s thighs were pressed together under the table. 

In the end, Leonie and Ingrid order the same thing, Hilda orders not one, but two dishes of food that she insists are a local specialty that no one else is allowed to have even a bite of, and Dorothea picks the sweetest thing on the menu. 

This time, it’s Ingrid who leans over to whisper in Dorothea’s ear. Her breath tickles Dorothea’s neck as she says softly, “Are  _ you  _ okay?”

Dorothea turns toward her and smiles at how Ingrid starts at their sudden closeness. Goddess, it really was too easy. “I’m fine. I’m happy to see you hit it off with Hilda and Leonie so well.”

Ingrid smiles. “I’m not really used to having friends outside of you and the Lions.”

“I know,” Dorothea laughs softly. “You’re practically a recluse, you know.”

At that, Ingrid steps on her foot under the table, though not hard enough to hurt. Dorothea responds by hooking her ankle around Ingrid’s, startling Ingrid into pulling away. 

Ha. 

Leonie clears her throat loudly, looking at the two of them as she twirls a toothpick around the glass of her cocktail. “We’re here, too, you know.” 

Ingrid pulls her ankle away from Dorothea’s, and they both turn back to the other two. Dorothea clears her throat.

“Leonie,” Hilda chides gently. “Leave the lovebirds alone.” 

Leonie raises an eyebrow. “I’m eating at a restaurant with you, Hilda. Restaurants waste so much food.” She nuzzles her head into her shoulder. “Let me have this one.”

Hilda laughs and kisses the top of Leonie’s head. “Ugh, fine. Tease away.”

Ingrid turns to Dorothea. “Should I...,” she flits her eyes to Hilda and Leonie, “I don’t know, put my arm ar-”

She’s interrupted by the arrival of their food, and all talk is forgotten. Dorothea knows that Ingrid loves food perhaps more than anything. It's hard to miss the slightly possessive look in her eyes as the bowl of kebabs is set in front of her that only comes from a childhood of never having enough food to go around. 

It’s a look Dorothea has trained hard to get rid of in herself. 

Leonie keeps up an easy conversation at the table, talking of horses, other Academy students, and this month’s Battle of Eagle and Lion that’s seized the student population in a craze of betting and friendly trash-talking between houses. Dorothea is so used to being the center of attention, and even though she certainly doesn’t mind that, she has to admit it’s nice to sit back for once and let someone else lead. 

Hilda, despite her earlier protestations, offers everyone a bite of her meals, which Dorothea can designate only as elaborately prepared and vaguely pink. She lets Ingrid try it first, and when she shakes her head, laughing and saying, “too bitter,” Dorothea politely refuses. Hilda just laughs at Ingrid’s reaction, and Dorothea stabs a bite of her meal, a sweet and savory dish of bread and meat in gravy, holding it out towards Ingrid. 

“Here,” Dorothea offers. “It’ll cleanse your palette.”

Ingrid just looks at her. “Why are you pointing your fork at me?”

Dorothea resists an eyeroll. “No, silly, take a bite.”

“Oh.” Ingrid reaches forward as if to take the fork from Dorothea, but she keeps her grip on it so Ingrid has to lean forward to eat the bread and meat off of the fork, her hand over Dorothea’s, thumb resting in the junction between her forefinger and thumb.

“That’s good,” Ingrid says, pulling her hand away to cover her mouth.

Dorothea turns back, drumming her fingers on her far leg as she steals glances at Ingrid next to her. Ingrid's face lights up in a smile as she turns back to her own plate of food. Dorothea sets her fork down for a moment, waving out her hand and trying to ignore the heat she senses coming to her cheeks.

But then, she remembers Edelgard, and feels a strange sense of guilt. Right, she’s here for Edelgard. Here to indirectly capture her attention. Edelgard, who has both money and status, of which Ingrid only has one. 

She shifts down the bench a little bit, and doesn’t touch Ingrid for the rest of the night. 

After the meal, the four walk back to the monastery, the air still warm in the summer night. Leonie and Ingrid pull ahead, reveling in their newfound friendship by discussing times when they were both free to train together. Dorothea walks with Hilda a few yards behind, both of them silent as they watch the other two. 

“= I have something to ask,” Hilda turns. 

“What is it, darling?”

“This is going to be awkward as all hells.” 

“That’s fine.”

“So, like, your relationship is totally fake, isn’t it?” 

Dorothea’s mind freezes. Her thoughts start reeling, going over the night and wondering what could have possibly tipped her friend off. Too late, she realizes the amount of time to reasonably deny this claim has passed. She tries, anyway.

“Why, what makes you think that? I can assure you-,” Dorothea stops at the look Hilda gives her. 

The two walk in silence for another moment. 

“Please,” Hilda says. “I’ve seen you with people you’ve dated before. You and Ingrid act way different. You guys barely touched, and, sorry, babe, but she’s not your type at all.” 

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Dorothea protests. “And Ingrid is definitely my type. She’s good-looking, and kind, and I like to spend time with her. You’re smart, sweetheart, but I don’t know how-”

And again, she’s cut off by a smile from Hilda. 

Dorothea sighs. “Ugh, fine. We’re not together.” 

Hilda looks so goddamn satisfied, Dorothea almost wants to take it back. 

“You can’t tell anyone, though. And I’m not telling you why.” 

“Yeah, sure, I figured.” Hilda shrugs. “I won’t say a word.” She mimes zipping her lips shut and throwing the key behind her. 

“What are you two talking about?” Leonie calls from up ahead. “You’ve fallen behind.” She and Ingrid stop, waiting for the other two to catch up. 

“Oh, you know,” Dorothea winks as she calls back. “Top secret gossip stuff. Nothing about you.”

Leonie shrugs. “Fine by me. Have fun with that one.” 

At the gates to the monastery, the four split up, Dorothea and Ingrid towards Ingrid’s room on the top floor, while Hilda and Leonie go off in the direction of Leonie’s on the first. 

The hallway is quiet, with most students either still out training or else locked in their rooms, lantern light peeking out from under the doors as they studied. Dorothea and Ingrid walk in comfortable silence, not holding hands this time, lanterns in the hallway casting long shadows towards Ingrid’s room. 

They pause outside her door near the end of the hall, and Ingrid turns to face Dorothea, one hand on the doorknob and back to the door. For once, Dorothea isn’t sure what to say, and she knows almost certainly that Ingrid doesn’t either. 

Ingrid glances down. 

“Well,” Dorothea says. “Thanks for the best fake date a girl could ask for.”

Ingrid barks out a laugh, and briefly takes Dorothea’s hand in her own before dropping it. “Sure, Dorothea. I had fun.” 

“Me, too,” she says, and is surprised at how much she means it. It’s nice, being stress-free with Ingrid in the company of friends. She can almost forget everything else going on. 

The two pause for another moment, Dorothea watching Ingrid, who seems to be decidedly choosing not to look back as she worries her bottom lip between her teeth. She has to admit, though it’s not the most awkward post-date footstep scene she’s experienced, it’s certainly up there. But, she waits, patiently allowing Ingrid the time she needs. Even if it is false, and it  _ is  _ false, she states, firmly, she doesn’t want to rush or pressure Ingrid on what may well be her first real date. 

“Well, um, goodnight?” Ingrid says finally, almost like a question. 

“‘Night, my Ingrid,” Dorothea says, wrapping her arms around Ingrid’s neck and pulling her into a hug. Ingrid freezes only for a moment before hugging her back, arms around Dorothea’s waist. They hold each other for a moment, and Dorothea breathes in deeply, not how Ingrid smells like a pleasant combination of soap, sweat, and something else she can’t quite place. 

Then, much too soon, Ingrid pulls away, and pushes open her door, stepping back. “I’ll see you tomorrow, Dorothea.” 

“Tomorrow,” Dorothea says, and smiles.

* * *

**Coming up: Dorothea starts to think that maybe camping isn’t so bad after all.**


	4. A Star Danced

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "Do you want help with your hair?" Dorothea asks. Ingrid looks up at her as she pulls her breastplate over her head. 
> 
> "Hm?"
> 
> "I could braid it for you, if you want."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> here you go, have some denial! 
> 
> Posting this chapter early as an apology, as I will not be able to update next week because of life shit going on. Sorry! In two weeks; however, weekly updates will continue. 
> 
> Thanks for reading!

Ferdinand is monologuing again. 

Dorothea lets him, as their post-rehearsal tea time is almost over, and, unfortunately, she has yet to find a way to make him stop.

She glances at her watch for the third time, reading the time to the background of Ferdinand rambling about how this Academy tea is nothing compared to the tea imported to House Aegir. She looks up when Ferdinand abruptly cuts himself off. 

"Dorothea, why must you keep looking at your watch?" She glances up at him to see his brow furrowed as he leans back in his chair. "Am I that boring of a tea companion?"

_ Yes _ , Dorothea thinks. 

"No," Dorothea says. "It's only that I promised I'd watch Ingrid in the House Lance tournament today, and since it starts in half an hour…"

"Ah, say no more," Ferdinand nods. "I would love to accompany you to the tournament. I'd like to meet Ingrid, formally, as well as evaluate my peers in such an environment."

"Oh, no, Ferdie, that's quite all right," Dorothea says, quickly. "I'll go alone and be just fine."

"Nonsense!" Ferdinand raises an arm in a triumphant fist that Dorothea knows all too well. "I would love to join you. I always love attending an event with a good friend."

She purses her lips. Knowing Ferdie, if he doesn't get the hint the first time, nothing short of outright rejection will make him understand. And while he is a bee, Dorothea doesn't have any desire to squash him like a bug quite yet. 

"Fine," she says. "You can come, but you're not allowed to talk during Ingrid's rounds."

Ferdinand looks taken aback. "Why, of course not! I would never stand in the way of you gazing upon your true love."

Dorothea sighs. 

* * *

In all actuality, Dorothea does appreciate that Ferdinand has joined her for the tournament. He’s a great help as she stakes out a spot in the front, standing near the step that leads into the arena proper. There’s typically far less students observing these practice tournaments, but the fervor for the Battle of Eagle and Lion at the end of this week must be drawing in a larger crowd. Dorothea is glad that Ferdinand is there, standing tall and wide and unmoving as people jostle for a view. It's begrudgingly helpful, almost friendly.

The competitors are mingling around Professor Jeritza, who seems to be going over the rules of the game. Dorothea stands on her tiptoes to try and spot Ingrid, but it’s Ingrid who sees her first, and there she is, waving at Dorothea with her hair in its typical braid, training lance in hand. Dorothea waves her fingers in a hello, and Ferdinand at her side gesticulates rather enthusiastically that Ingrid should come join them. 

Ingrid turns to talk to Jeritza, and then walks over, looking more comfortable with a lance in her hand than Dorothea has ever seen her. “Hi,” Ingrid says, excited..

"How are you feeling? All warmed up?"

"Nervous," Ingrid admits, shifting from foot to foot. She looks at the ground. "I'm really happy you came."

Dorothea reaches out, gently lifting Ingrid's chin with two fingers and looking into her eyes. "I wouldn't miss it for the world." She thinks about mentioning their rules, wouldn't miss it for the world because doing so would break their promise, but Ferdinand is standing right there, and, anyway, something about how Ingrid has that soft, unguarded smile on her face makes her not want to say it regardless of whoever is standing nearby. Dorothea strokes Ingrid's chin with her thumb, once, then pulls her hand away. Ingrid doesn't move. 

"Still, though," Ingrid says. "It means a lot." She hesitates for a moment, looking away.

Dorothea wants to say something, to tease her, maybe, and deepen that pink blush tinting Ingrid's cheeks, but of course,  _ of course, _ Ferdinand chooses that moment to stretch out a hand in Ingrid's direction. "I am Ferdinand von Aegir," he says, "Though I suppose you are already aware of my name, yes?"

Ingrid switches her lance from her right hand to her left, shaking Ferdinand's hand with a glance at Dorothea. "Ingrid."

"Yes, yes, I know who you are. Dorothea mentions you quite a bit. And I reckon she talks to you about her best friend Ferdie to you quite often, as well?"

Ingrid looks at Dorothea. Dorothea raises her eyebrows and widens her eyes.

"Yes," Ingrid says slowly, looking back to Ferdinand. "Of course. It's a pleasure to finally meet you." 

Ferdinand pulls his hand back, satisfied. 

"Well," Ingrid turns back to Dorothea. "I should get back. I just wanted to come over and say hello."

"And I'm glad you did," Dorothea smiles. "You're gonna do great." She reaches out and squeezes Ingrid's arm. 

Ingrid takes Dorothea's hand in hers for just a moment, then drops it. She smiles and offers her thanks then turns to walk back to the other contestants.

"What a kind girl," Ferdinand says as Dorothea watches Ingrid strap on her breastplate and tuck her hair into a helmet. 

"Oh, yes." Dorothea folds her hands together in front of her. "She's quite a charmer." 

Ferdinand sets a strong hand on Dorothea’s shoulder. “I’m happy for you, Dorothea.”

She turns to flash a smile in his direction. “Thanks, Ferdie.” The look in his eyes, so earnest, makes Dorothea think that maybe he might actually be a friend, not just someone she walks to choir with and occasionally takes tea with. 

They quiet as the first two contestants move to the middle of the arena. Neither are anybody Dorothea knows, and she wonders just how long today is going to last. She doesn’t care much about anyone in this competition other than Ingrid.

The two circle each other before the taller contestant lunges forward, aiming to strike at the shorter’s left side. But the other contestant parries, and the two begin exchanging hits back and forth. 

“She’s using her shorter height to her advantage,” Ferdinand nods. “See?” 

Dorothea, quite honestly, can’t see what Ferdinand means, but she hums in agreement, anyway. 

Eventually, the shorter contestant yields to mild applause from the audience, and both leave the center of the sphere. 

And then, there’s Ingrid, hefting a training lance in one hand and shaking Ignatz Victor’s hand with the other as they make their way to the center. Dorothea tries to catch her eye before they start, but Ingrid is too busy exchanging sportsmanlike pleasantries and doesn’t look her way. Probably for the best, Dorothea reckons. Ingrid is so easily flustered lately, and she wouldn’t want to distract her. 

Ingrid wins, almost too easily, and then, finally, she glances in Dorothea’s direction. Dorothea gives her a thumbs up, and Ingrid grins. It isn’t quite that face-splitting smile that Dorothea loves to see from her friend, but it’s close enough. 

And Ingrid keeps winning - round after round, against student after student. Barely a round passes without Ferdinand making a snide comment about one or both of the contestants, and Dorothea is seriously reconsidering her decision to officially welcome him into her circle of friends by the time they get to the quarterfinals.

It’s in the semifinals round, when Ingrid is facing off against Lorenz, that Ferdinand finally makes a comment about her. 

“Have you noticed that she leaves her left open?” Ferdinand murmurs to Dorothea, and Dorothea is quite ready to snap at him for criticizing her girlfriend, or, rather, her fake-girlfriend, but then realizes he’s right. She watches as once again, Ingrid tries a one-handed swing with her right hand, the movement just a bit too wide, which leaves her left open for a moment for a lance, or even a well-placed kick to send her stumbling. 

Luckily, though, Lorenz doesn’t notice that flaw, and Ingrid pummels him thoroughly. Jeritza announces a ten minute break before the final round, and Ingrid turns, smiling again at Dorothea and giving a little wave before retreating to the sidelines and unlatching her chin strap to pull off her helmet. Dorothea watches as she drinks water and a vulnerary, wiping sweaty strands of hair out of her eyes. 

And, unbidden, Dorothea remembers two weeks ago, on their outing with Hilda and Leonie, and how not even a wisp of hair had escaped from Ingrid’s braid, then. Ingrid’s hair’s always a mess, but Dorothea hadn’t even noticed when it wasn’t. Had she done her hair for their date? Taken time to do it nicely, to tuck those spare strands into hidden places where they couldn’t escape? 

It makes Dorothea smile a bit to herself as she straightens her shoulders. 

Ingrid’s facing off against Sylvain, Dorothea knows this, and yet when Sylvain moves over to speak with Ingrid, Dorothea shakes her head at the unbidden pang in her chest. As if he can feel her eyes on him, Sylvain looks up. He gives Dorothea a look that’s somehow both disdainful and smug as he leans in to whisper something in Ingrid’s ear. 

Dorothea turns away. Great! The plan was working. This was what she wanted, this was what Ingrid wanted. She shakes her hands out and rolls her shoulders back. This was a good thing, Sylvain leaning in to Ingrid and Ingrid, for once, letting him. So why in the hell is her stomach clenching, the image of Sylvain’s face almost in Ingrid’s hair staying in her mind, her face heating at this? 

It doesn’t matter, Dorothea thinks as she squares her shoulders and Ingrid and Sylvain take center stage. It doesn’t matter at all. But when Ingrid glances back at Dorothea before they start, smiling, Dorothea can’t bring herself to smile back.

The spar is tight and lengthy, with both Ingrid and Sylvain landing and taking heavy hits. Ingrid looks about ready to collapse, Dorothea notes, her face red and her arms starting to shake. Sylvain is still smiling, raising his eyebrows at Ingrid from under his helmet, but Dorothea can see the rapid rise and fall of his chest that signifies that he, too, is wearing out. 

And then, Sylvain takes a half step backwards, and stumbles. Ingrid has a look of triumph on her face as she lunges forward, thrusting the training lance in a hard jab into Sylvain’s unprotected side. She pulls back, ready to strike again, but Sylvain raises both hands in a yielding motion before she can. 

And the polite applause starts. Jeritza appears from the sides, holding a brand-new silver lance in one hand and two vulneraries in the other. He smiles his soft, unreadable smile as he gives Sylvain a vulnerary, and then turns and hands Ingrid the other, along with the lance. 

There’s that grin, Dorothea thinks, smiling. Ingrid looks positively ecstatic as she looks around. As the courteous applause dies down, people start to clear out from the training grounds, but Dorothea pushes past them into the main arena. And as Dorothea starts to call out congratulations, Ingrid sees her. Dorothea is surprised when Ingrid, usually so nervous, runs to her, all but leaping at Dorothea and wrapping her arms around her neck, burying her face in Dorothea’s hair. 

The hug is all sharp edges and armor, Ingrid’s breastplate and helmet digging into Dorothea’s chest and jaw, and the silver lance pressing a hard line against Dorothea’s back, but she only hesitates for a second before returning the hug, wrapping her arms around Ingrid’s waist and pressing her hands against the small of her back. 

After only a moment, Ingrid pulls back, looking at Dorothea with a grin on her face before freezing and letting her arms fall back to her sides. 

“Sorry,” Ingrid blushes. “Got excited there.”

“Oh, you,” Dorothea says. “It’s okay to be excited! Congratulations, darling.”

It’s only when Ingrid shifts that Dorothea realizes her hands are still settled on Ingrid’s waist, and she pulls them back, swiftly. “Thanks,” Ingrid says. “I’m actually proud of myself for once.”

“You should be,” Dorothea assures her. “Now let’s get that helmet and armor off before you ride off into war and I never see you again.”

Ingrid laughs, obediently unclasping the strap from under her chin and taking off her helmet, running one hand through her matted hair. “Goddess, it’s warm in here,” she says, handing Dorothea the helmet so she can unclasp her breastplate. 

“Do you want help with your hair?” Dorothea asks. Ingrid looks up at her as she pulls the breastplate over her head. 

“Hm?”

“I could braid it for you, if you want,” Dorothea smiles. “I promise I’m good at it.”

“Oh, it’s all right.” Ingrid takes the helmet back from Dorothea and walks to the equipment closet, Dorothea turning to watch her as she puts her weapons and equipment in her designated section.

“Are you sure?” Dorothea isn’t sure why she’s insisting.

“Yeah, totally sure.” Ingrid turns back, pulling her sloppy braid out and then scraping her hair back into an equally sloppy, but tighter ponytail. “See? Done.”

Dorothea laughs. “Oh, Ingrid. Why do I feel as if someday you’re just going to cut it all off when everyone least expects it?” 

Ingrid grabs Dorothea’s arm, pulling her towards the exit, and, honestly, Dorothea isn’t sure which Ingrid she likes being around better: the blushing, slightly awkward Ingrid that she’s been lately, or this new, confident, post-battle Ingrid that hugs her without hesitation and takes Dorothea’s arm in her own. Maybe both. 

Ingrid laughs. “Oh, perhaps. I’d look great in short hair, don’t you think?”

Dorothea uses this as an opportunity to reach over as they cross into the main walkway of the Monastery and ruffle Ingrid’s hair. “Definitely. Very nice.” 

Ingrid glances at her. “Really?”

“Oh, yeah. You should try it sometime.”

This makes Ingrid laugh again. “Not right now. Later, though. Maybe.”

Ingrid pauses in front of the dormitories, and Dorothea stops beside her. “Eugh,” Ingrid moans. “I know it’s the Eagle and Lion dinner tonight but I really do need to go wash up.” She looks at the ground, then up at Dorothea. “Wait for me?”

“Ingrid, you silly. You look and smell fine. Come on, let’s go eat.”

Blushing Ingrid is back, Dorothea thinks as Ingrid’s face goes pink. “First of all, Dorothea, don’t say I smell good. That’s strange.”

Dorothea laughs. “Fair enough, I suppose. But really,” She steps closer. “You’re fine. You look great. Now let’s go.” She takes both Ingrid’s hands in hers and leans backward, pulling her. “I know how you hate to miss a good meal.”

And then Ingrid’s laughing, too, and even though she pulls away from Dorothea’s hands, she bumps their shoulders together as they walk. “Fine, fine, you win.”

As they walk into the dining hall, side by side, Dorothea begins to think she agrees. 

* * *

The morning dawns bright and early the day before the Battle of Eagle and Lion, and Dorothea awakens to the sound of people outside her room, walking, or, rather, what sounds like stomping their way around the dormitories. 

Goddess, it’s barely even dawn yet. For a moment, Dorothea lays in bed, hands over her face, coming up with a particularly long and elaborate ‘fuck you’ towards whoever decided that every year Academy students would have to march for a full day to get to a barren field in the middle of Goddess-knows-where and beat each other to a pulp in the same place where their ancestors did. Is this really what nobles found fun? 

But, she supposes, this is her reality now. She pushes herself up, groaning, and looks at herself in the mirror across from her bed. Makeup today? She usually wears it everyday, but a day of marching did not make a full face of makeup sound particularly appealing at the moment. 

Instead, she pulls on her Academy uniform - and marching  _ in uniform _ , too - and puts on just a bit of eye makeup and gloss on her lips. After pinning her hair back, she studies herself in the mirror. Ugh. This is as good as it’s going to get. 

Dorothea hates camping. She hates the outdoors. She hates marching.

She briefly flits with the notion of feigning illness, but shakes her head to clear her thoughts, slinging her pack with her battle outfit and a flask of water over her shoulders and stepping out of her room. 

An hour and a half later, she’s on the road, marching beside Edelgard and Hubert with Ferdinand at her other side on his horse Leonato. Hubert continually insists that Edelgard ride a horse instead of dirtying herself among the dust being kicked up by dozens of marching feet, but Edelgard refuses.

“Hubert, if I really hated walking, I’d ride in the carriage with the provisions,” Edelgard tells him with finality, and then turns to Dorothea. “Dorothea, how are rehearsals for  _ Princesa _ going? The show is in just a few weeks, isn’t it?” 

Dorothea smiles. “Oh, it’s going wonderful, Edie. Are you planning on attending?”

“Count on it.” Edelgard turns her gaze to the road ahead. “It will be quite fun, I think, to see you and Ferdinand perform.” 

“I’ll be sure to put on an extra special show just for you,” Dorothea winks at her, but she can’t help feeling a strangely disjointed notion in her chest. Almost like a circuit is missing - a spark that should be connecting not quite making the jump, leaving her hollow. 

Instead of dwelling on that, she turns to Hubert. “Hubie, what about you? Wanna come see me and Ferdie?”

Hubert glances over at Dorothea, and then at Ferdinand behind her. He smiles a small smile practically dripping in condescension. “If I have the time.”

Dorothea leans her chin on Edelgard’s shoulder, looking over at Hubert. “Ah,” she says, overly sweet. “You wouldn’t leave Edie on her own for a whole four hours, would you? The Cathedral can be quite scary at night.”

Hubert doesn’t reply, merely scoffs and turns in the other direction. Dorothea grins and lifts her head. 

“I’ll make sure he’s there,” Edelgard says, but she’s looking over Dorothea’s shoulder at Ferdinand. 

“As if I care,” Ferdinand scoffs, but when Dorothea turns to look at him, his face is a crimson red. Ferdinand clears his throat, and then, as if purposely changing the subject, says, “So, Edelgard, shall we make a bet to see who can defeat the most enemies on the battlefield, tomorrow? I have quite a bit of gold and would like to collect even more.”

“Ferdinand,” Edelgard says, exasperated. 

At this, Dorothea slows her walk, pulling back from the other three, knowing that a three-way bicker would soon begin between them, one she wanted absolutely no part of. At times she felt out of place when spending time with all three of her friends together - while she was close to all of them, save perhaps Hubert, she could never quite fit when it came to their banter they’d shared since childhood. 

She moves to the side of the caravan, where there's less dust, cracking her neck as she tries to work out the knot forming in her shoulders from carrying her heavy pack. She huffs out a laugh to herself as, ahead of her, Caspar and Linhardt ride on the same horse, bareback, Linhardt leaning back into Caspar with his head lolling on Caspar’s shoulders as Caspar held the reins, clearly asleep. Goddess. Linhardt really could sleep anywhere. Dorothea smiles. It’s almost sweet.

She’s trying to find Bernadetta in the crowd when Ingrid alights by her side, sliding off her pegasus and falling into step beside her, one hand holding its reins. 

Dorothea turns. It’s not that she’s surprised that Ingrid’s approaching her, rather, she just hadn’t noticed her descending.

“You look exhausted,” Ingrid says, and Dorothea shoots her a look, but Ingrid’s grinning. 

“Thanks, darling.”

“Have you even taken a break and ridden yet?” 

“Ah, no,” Dorothea brushes a spare strand of hair off her face.

“Why don’t you take a turn on Benedick?” Ingrid pats her pegasus’s flank. “He’s gentle.”

Dorothea doesn’t answer for a moment, pursing her lips as she looked from Ingrid, to Benedick, and back to Ingrid. 

“Promise you won’t laugh at me?” she says finally. 

“Uh, no. Can’t make promises, sorry,” Ingrid says. 

Dorothea pouts. “Please, pretty Ingrid. For me?”

Ingrid blushes. “Um, okay. Sure, Dorothea.”

Dorothea looks at the sky. “I’m terrified of horses.”

Ingrid laughs, then stops when Dorothea cringes. “Oh, Goddess, you’re serious.”

Dorothea puts her head in her hands. “I know it's hard to believe."

“I thought you liked animals.”

Dorothea raises her head, looking at Ingrid. “Small animals, Ingrid.  _ Small _ animals. Horses are… they’re big, and they’re smelly, and their hooves are so big, and, Goddess, Ingrid, stop that.”

Ingrid tries to stop smiling, but her eyes are twinkling and there’s laughter in her voice when she says, “I’m sorry, Dorothea, truly. I just can’t imagine you being scared of something so harmless.”

“Harmless,” Dorothea scoffs.

Ingrid just shakes her head, turning to pat Benedick again. 

“How about pegasi?” she tries. “They’re still big, but Benedick’s gentle. It’s a much smoother ride, too. No offense, Dorothea, but you look like an exhausted mess. Time to get off your feet.”

“Wow, thanks, Ingrid. I'm all right.”

Ingrid pauses. “I mean, I could ride with you, if you wanted?”

Dorothea ignores the heat rising in her cheeks. It’s a warmer autumn day, anyway. She takes a pull from her water flask to give herself time to think. 

“Won’t I fall off?” she asks finally. 

Ingrid snorts. “Look, Dorothea, you might be the expert in dating, but I’m the expert at horseback riding. You’re not going to fall. There’s plenty of room since I’m riding bareback, and if it makes you feel better, I’ll even sit in the back. That way, if anyone falls off, it’ll be me.”

Dorothea hesitates. 

“Dorothea, your hair is up and you’re barely even wearing makeup. You’re exhausted. Come on.”

“Fine,” Dorothea groans. “For you. And for you, only. And then never again.”

Ingrid laughs, blushing. The two stop for a moment, falling to the side of the caravan as Dorothea hands Ingrid her pack. Ingrid reaches out her hand to help Dorothea up. 

“You’ll be fine,” Ingrid assures her as Dorothea slings one leg over Benedick’s back, settling on the pegasus with her hands braced firmly against its spine.

“You good?” Ingrid asks, letting go of Dorothea’s hand, and Dorothea nods. Ingrid mounts the pegasus easily and wraps her arms around Dorothea’s waist to grab the reins, forearms resting on Dorothea’s thighs. Out of instinct more than anything, Dorothea grips Ingrid by the wrists, trying to stay steady and keep her breathing normal. 

“It might be a little rough at first if you’ve never ridden bareback before,” Ingrid warns. 

Dorothea lets out a nervous laugh. “Oh, Goddess.”

And then Ingrid’s chin is propped on her shoulder as she watches the ground in front of them. “You’re going to be fine,” she says, only a hint of exasperation entering her voice. Dorothea feels it as Ingrid presses her knees into Benedick’s flank with a click of her tongue, and the pegasus obediently starts moving forward, gaining a bit of momentum before launching himself into the air. 

Dorothea shakes, her grip tightening on Ingrid’s arms. “Shit.”

“You’re fine, you’re fine,” Ingrid says. “Don’t worry, I’ve got you.” She scoots closer, and Dorothea feels her pressed against her back. “You’re not going to fall.” Dorothea relaxes just a bit as they level out, flying straight rather than flying up.

_ Not so shy about the physical contact now _ , Dorothea thinks, and then she says it, adding a faint laugh at the end. 

Ingrid moves back slightly. “Sorry,” she laughs too, nervous. “I just don’t want to slide off. There’s enough room for two, but not much extra.”

“You don’t have to apologize,” Dorothea says. “I didn’t mind. You can scoot back forward.”

Silence, but for the wind whistling through her ears and her own breathing. 

Ingrid slides back forward. 

“Hey,” Dorothea says gently, trying to sound less terrified than she feels. “If you’re uncomfortable, though, you know you can move back.”

Dorothea feels Ingrid sigh against her back. “I’m not uncomfortable.”

Dorothea waits for her to continue.

“I’m just, I guess, not really used to people who aren’t close to me touching me so casually. Honestly, only Mercedes, Sylvain and Felix are all as affectionate with me as you.”

“Felix?”

“Okay,” Ingrid laughs, “Maybe not Felix.”

“Do you need me to tone it down?” Dorothea tries to turn her head a bit to look back at Ingrid, but upon seeing the ground below her, immediately turns back to the front, training her eyes on the sky before her. “If you want me to, I can.”

“Oh, no, don’t,” Ingrid says, and Dorothea can just imagine the blush on her face, her ears, her neck. “I mean, it really doesn’t make me uncomfortable, it never did, I like it, actually, I mean.” She stops talking, leaning her forehead on Dorothea’s back, and Dorothea can feel her arms tense from the place where they’re rested on her legs. 

“Okay,” Dorothea says, drawing the word out. She thought she’d gotten past Ingrid’s awkward, hot and cold walls, but maybe they’re still up.

“You know what you can do?” Ingrid says, lifting her head. 

“What?”

“Fix your hair. It’s escaping its hold and I’m sick of it flying into my mouth.”

Dorothea laughs and leans her head back, resting it on Ingrid’s shoulder, staring up at her face with Ingrid’s arms around her. Ingrid glances down at her, then returns her gaze to what’s in front of them. 

“It’s okay, really,” Ingrid assures her. “You can let go. I won’t let you fall.”

Dorothea has a sudden urge to stroke that soft patch of skin she can see right under Ingrid’s jaw, but before she can act on it, or even focus on the thought, she lifts her head, sitting back up. Slowly, she releases her grip on Ingrid’s wrists and undoes her hair, pulling it back again into a tight ponytail, securing it in a bun with a second band. “Better?” she asks.

“Better,” Ingrid confirms.

* * *

Dorothea sits back on her heels from where she’s just finished setting up her bedroll, wiping her forehead with the back of one hand before pulling herself to her feet. 

The Black Eagles campsite is mostly set up, with Petra and Bernadetta sitting across from each other on their bedrolls, Bernadetta with her hands clamped over her ears while Petra whittles away at a stick with one of her daggers absentmindedly. Linhardt lays with his head on Caspar’s lap, dozing while Caspar tries and fails repeatedly to braid his hair. Edelgard sits to the side as Hubert and Ferdinand help set up her tent, and Professor Byleth is nowhere to be seen.

Dorothea considers joining one of the small groups among her own house, but she doesn’t want to intrude on Linhardt and Caspar, nor does she want to overwhelm Bernadetta with too many people. 

She stretches, considering. She could pay Ingrid a visit, help her set up, or maybe visit Hilda. Hilda has no doubt roped some poor student into setting up her area for her, and would therefore be willing and able to wander off. But, Dorothea reasons, maybe she would be expected to check on her girlfriend, first. Though, she had to admit, not many people were still noticing them these days. 

When she approaches the Blue Lions area, Dorothea doesn’t know whether she wants to turn around and walk right back, laugh, or stay.

The campsite is, for lack of a better word, in chaos. Ashe and Dedue are digging through the supplies carriage, Ashe handing things back to Dedue, who sets everything to the side in one big pile; Annette is laying spread eagle on the ground, shoving a piece of bread into her mouth; Felix is sitting on a rock with his head in his hands while Sylvain pats him on his shoulder. In the middle of it all is Mercedes, Dimitri, and Ingrid, Ingrid with her hands in the air, Dimitri with his on his hips, and Mercedes with hers clasped primly in front of her. 

“So,” Dorothea says, making her way over to the trio and raising an eyebrow. “Good to see you, Dimi, Mercie, darling.” She slips her hand into Ingrid’s, giving it a gentle squeeze along with a kiss on her forehead. “Everything all right over here?”

“Oh, we’re fine,” Mercedes protests. “Just a bit of a mixup.”

“Mercedes packed,” Ingrid says bluntly. 

“No one else offered,” Mercedes says. “I know I forgot a few items, but I think I did quite well, actually.”

“Well,” Ingrid says. “We’re one bedroll short, and missing quite a few supplies, so I wouldn’t say you did  _ quite _ well.”

Dimtiri lays a hand on Ingrid’s shoulder. “It’s quite alright, Mercedes,” he assures her. “We’re all just a bit stressed from the long walk.”

Mercedes nods demurely. 

Ingrid sighs. “Sorry, Mercedes. It’s just, you remembered your tray of brownies so I don’t see how you could’ve forgotten-”

“It’s a tradition,” Mercedes says. “Annie, Sylvain, Ashe and I all eat sweets to wind down the night before a battle.”

Ingrid blinks. 

“It’s all right, anyway,” Mercedes continues. “I don’t mind sharing with Annie.”

Ingrid visibly softens at this, shaking her head. “Oh, no, Mercedes, I won’t make you do that. Remember that one battle where the same thing happened and Felix woke up to Annette yanking his hair and pulling on his ear in her sleep?”

Dorothea cocks her head at Ingrid, opening her mouth to question this, but Mercedes beats her to it.

“Oh, yes, she’s always been like that,” Mercedes giggles. “I remember back when we were roommates at the School of Sorcery, I’d wake up at least twice a week from her sleepwalking. It’s no worries, I’m used to it.”

“Nonsense,” Ingrid says, letting go of Dorothea’s hand to brush against Mercedes’ arm. “Really, Mercedes, it’s fine. You and I can just share. I don’t mind in the slightest.”

Mercedes smiles. “Oh, Ingrid, are you sure?”

“Of course.”

Mercedes wraps Ingrid in a quick hug before bidding them goodbye, walking to where Ashe and Dedue are still sorting through supplies.

“Ingrid-” Dorothea starts to say, pulling on Ingrid’s arm to draw them both away from the site. 

“You.” 

Dorothea glances up to see Felix staring at her. “We’re trying to discuss strategy. Return to your own house.”

“Oh, fuck off, Fe,” Ingrid turns and tells him. She turns back to Dorothea. “Sorry about him.” Then, with a sheepish look on her face, she continues, “We should talk strategy, though.”

“Ingrid,” Dorothea teases. “Keeping secrets from me?”

Ingrid rolls her eyes, but blushes bright pink all the same. “Shut up.”

“Okay,” Dorothea grins, and leans in to press another quick peck to Ingrid’s face, this time on her cheek, partly to see that blush deepen, partly because, frankly, she wants to. 

Ingrid smiles at her, and Dorothea can’t read the look in her eyes, but before she can try to decipher it, Ingrid pulls away. “Go,” she says. 

“Talk later?”

Ingrid just smiles wider, and Dorothea turns. 

“Oh, Dorothea!” It’s Ferdinand who calls her from where her house has gathered around an unlit bonfire. "How pleasant of you to finally join us."

Dorothea rolls her eyes at him, taking a seat on the ground next to Petra.

"Finally finished abandoning us for your girlfriend, are you?" says Linhardt, deadpan as ever, from where he's still laying on Caspar. 

"Now, now," Edelgard chides. "Welcome back, Dorothea. We were just about to discuss our final strategy for tomorrow."

Dorothea's cheeks feel warm as Edelgard turns back to the group. Speaking to Professor Byleth, she asks, “Professor, if it is up to you, how would you approach this battle?”

They discuss their strategy for hours, down to the last detail, until the bonfire is come and gone, burned down to a single log. When they’ve finished, Professor Byleth tells everyone to turn in for the night, their strict look conveying their seriousness more than words ever could. 

Bernadetta is already asleep, laying on her side on the hard ground, arm underneath her head, mouth open. Petra shakes her awake, and the house splits up to slide into their sleeping bags, Edelgard slipping into her tent near the edge of their area. 

Dorothea lays, flat on her back, in her bedroll, a bit chilly and much too awake to sleep. She can hear the footsteps indicating that a few other people are out and about, and when she turns her head she can see Linhardt, awake from his evening nap, leaning against a boulder near the slowly dying fire and using its light to read from a bound journal. 

Typical, she thinks, and turns her face back to the sky. She lies there for a few more minutes, periodically squeezing her eyes closed to try and force herself to rest. Goddess, she really, truly, hates camping. It’s cold, there’s insects out, and she’s almost sure there’s a rock digging into her spine. And she’s supposed to fight tomorrow? Flames.

_ Ugh, _ Dorothea scrubs her hands over her face.  _ Fuck this. _ She slides herself out of the sleep sack, cursing when her feet get tangled in her quilt when she tries to stand. She finally makes her way to her feet, brushing off her trousers with one hand and snatching the quilt with the other. 

Linhardt laughs, but he doesn’t look up. 

“I’m going on a walk,” Dorothea says, half to him, half to no one. Linhardt doesn’t answer, just raises an eyebrow and turns the page in his notebook. 

Dorothea huffs off to find somewhere quiet, somewhere where she can think and maybe relax enough that she can sleep. She does this at times, even back at the Monastery, when her thoughts won’t stop racing. Often, she pretends not to see Bernadetta as she, too, wanders in the shadows, but the other girl is fast asleep tonight, snoring lightly.

Dorothea doesn’t quite know where she’s going, but when she ends up on a small cliff looking over the field after walking aimlessly for a near half hour, she doesn’t complain. Instead, she sits cross legged, wrapping the blanket around her.

The walk itself had done wonders for clearing her thoughts, but Dorothea likes to look at the stars, and to see her classmates all resting. It’s peaceful, somehow, with nothing but the cold night air surrounding her. 

Peaceful, that is, until something behind her rustles, snapping a twig beneath its feet.

Dorothea turns on instinct, conjuring a thunder spell and raising her hand, but she stops when she hears “Agh, Dorothea, no, it’s just me!” and then, seconds later, sees Ingrid, looking positively rumpled, blonde hair puffed out in the moonlight and hands in a protective stance in front of her face. “Please, don’t.”

Dorothea lowers her arm. “Following me now, Ingrid, are you?”

“Shush,” Ingrid says. “Turns out Mercedes is a rowdy sleeper, too. I’m going to have bruises for ages. It’s not my fault that when I saw you walking off I realized it sas a chance to escape.”

Dorothea snorts. “Fair enough. Join me?”

Ingrid walks over and takes a seat next to Dorothea, pulling her knees to her chest. 

“Oh, Ingrid, you’re shivering.” Dorothea opens the blanket. “Come here, it’s big enough to share.”

Ingrid hesitates for a moment, then opens her arms, moving closer to Dorothea and taking the end of the blanket, pulling it closed, resting her hand next to Dorothea’s so they were wrapped in a cocoon of warmth. 

They sit in silence for a moment. Dorothea glances at Ingrid, at her pink cheeks, short blonde eyelashes, and, oh, damn, an absolute rat’s nest of hair. 

“Flames, Ingrid,” Dorothea says. “You might be worse at camping than I am. What in all hells happened to your hair?”

Ingrid turns to her. “Says you. I’ve never seen you with your hair up in my life.”

“Touché.” Dorothea shifts, tucking her end of the blanket under a knee and reaching out to touch Ingrid’s hair with both hands. Ingrid freezes, and Dorothea pauses. “This okay?” she asks gently. 

Ingrid takes a deep breath. “Oh, yeah, yeah, sure.” She turns so her back is facing Dorothea to give her better access to her hair. “Ashe and Mercedes do my hair all the time.”

“Hm, Well,” Dorothea says. “I don’t exactly have all my tools to really make it look amazing, but I can at least take out the tangles.” 

Dorothea can hear the smile in Ingrid’s voice when she says, “That would be nice. Thanks, Dorothea.”

Quiet falls over them as Dorothea returns her hands to Ingrid’s hair, cold fingers gently separating it into pieces before running her fingers through tangled strands. She blows on her hands to warm them a bit, smoothing out knots and combing frizz. Ingrid’s hair is surprisingly soft, and quite thick, Dorothea notices. No wonder she pulls it back every day, it must be such a hassle to style. 

“I’m beginning to think you definitely should cut your hair short,” Dorothea laughs. “You’ve got so much of it, I bet you’d lose two pounds of tension off your neck if it was all gone. 

Ingrid doesn’t reply with words, but she softens, letting her shoulders drop and leaning back into Dorothea. Soon they’re half-sitting, half-laying, with Ingrid’s head leaning on Dorothea’s chest, Dorothea’s legs folded underneath her. 

Dorothea’s self-indulgent, this she can admit to herself as she works through that last knot in Ingrid’s hair. She doesn’t stop, doesn’t even hesitate as she continues to run her fingers through it, making tiny braids and taking them apart just as softly. Ingrid doesn’t say anything, either, doesn’t pull away or even freeze before shifting so she’s laying on her side, facing the campsite and stars before them, head in Dorothea’s lap. 

Dorothea, before she knows quite what she’s doing, lets out a contented sigh, brushing a strand of hair behind Ingrid’s ear, letting her fingers brush against the shell. 

Ingrid, to her credit, doesn’t do anything, and Dorothea feels as though she could maybe stay in that tiny smile, in the small crease of her eyebrows when Dorothea’s fingertips gently scratch against her scalp. 

“So,” Ingrid starts, and Dorothea is on edge, somehow, her hands pausing for a moment before Ingrid continues. “What’s your strategy for tomorrow?” She turns her head up to Dorothea, the small smile turning into an equally small grin. 

Dorothea lets out a breath, hands resuming their previous motions as she flicks Ingrid gently on the side of the head. “Oh, so that’s what your plan was, hm?” She asks. “Get me up here, let me play with your hair, lay on my lap, just to try and pry all our secrets out of me, huh?” she tickles Ingrid’s side for just a moment, laughing when she squirms. Her head feels clearer now, the tension gone as she says, “Well, you sly minx, that isn’t going to work on me.” Feeling rather bold, she places her index finger on Ingrid’s lips in a shushing motion as she tries to respond. “I may not care about fighting,” Ingrid looks quite silly trying to look at Dorothea’s finger, not breathing, “But that doesn’t mean I’ll say a thing.” Without another word, Dorothea returns her hands to Ingrid’s hair as if they had never left. 

When Ingrid doesn’t say anything, doesn’t move, still doesn’t breathe, Dorothea wonders for a moment if she’s gone too far. She’s always been more prone to physical contact among flirting - except, no, this wasn’t flirting, this was two friends talking - but maybe Ingrid doesn’t know how to react. 

“Okay, fine, I’ll tell you,” Dorothea says, mock annoyed, before the silence lasts too long. “If you’re gonna drag it out of me like that.”

“Really?” Ingrid says, voice wavering slightly.

“Of course.”

A pause. 

“It’s to kick your ass.”

And then it’s Ingrid’s turn to snort, and she turns back to watch the stars as Dorothea laughs. “Yeah, yeah. We’ll see about that.”

The silence falls over them again. 

“Can I say something strange?” Dorothea asks after a moment.

“Um, Sure.”

“It’s… nice that you’ve warmed up to me a bit, my Ingrid. We were friends, but then you started acting peculiar around me. It’s... nice that we can lay here, together. It’s nice.”

Ingrid closes her eyes. When she opens them, she says, “Yeah, I’m sorry about all that, Dorothea. I guess I’m just not much used to rumors flying around about me or, um, public displays of affection, if that’s the right word.”

“I know, and you don’t have to apologize.” 

Ingrid closes her eyes again, this time squeezing them shut. “And also, I’m always nervous around cute girls,” she says in a rush, pushing the words out as though they have been struggling to escape. 

Dorothea bites her bottom lip, trying to resist the urge to smile and ignore the fluttering in her stomach. It is quite cold out there, after all, and she did tend to get stomachaches in the cold. “Oh, so you think I’m cute?”

“Well, I mean, objectively,” Ingrid stammers. “Objectively, you’re pretty. Objectively.”

Dorothea’s hands pause, one tangled in Ingrid’s hair, the other on her shoulder.

“Objectively, huh?” She drums her fingers along Ingrid’s shoulders, once. “Well, I think you’re pretty objectively cute, too.”

Ingrid seems to be resisting a pleased little smile at that, and she shyly turns her head further away from Dorothea, letting out a nervous little laugh. 

And it’s nice, Dorothea realizes, sitting out here with Ingrid, surrounded by moonlight. She feels at home, somehow, like she’s untouchable, like there’s nothing in the world but she and the girl with her head in her lap. Tonight, she isn’t thinking of a relationship built on falsehoods, she isn’t thinking about Edelgard, or Sylvain, or anyone else. She’s thinking of nothing but her breath fogging in the midnight air, the stars shining in the sky, and Ingrid, the weight of her head in her lap, looking at nothing with sunlight in her eyes.

* * *

**Coming up: Ingrid yearns.**


	5. Speak Low

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ingrid yearns.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Back to the weekly updates! 
> 
> Thanks again to everyone who's left comments and Kudos - I'm astounded at the love for this fic. I appreciate every single one of you!

* * *

**_Earlier_ **

* * *

In battle, Ingrid feels at home. 

She knows Dorothea is quite the opposite, but, she has to admit, even though Dorothea may hate it, she is an absolute powerhouse during battle.

She watches her, now, from her point above the field. Professor Byleth asked her to accompany the Black Eagles on a routine bandits mission, and Ingrid had complied. Now she soars above the others with Petra, diving and killing and then rising again.

The Black Eagles fight below her: Hubert and Ferdinand, back to back, shooting black magic and twirling axes; Edelgard and Professor Byleth, cutting their way through bandits like a knife through hot butter, working their way towards the group leader; Caspar, Linhardt, and Bernadetta, defending the group from the back, white magic glowing, gauntlets flashing, and arrows soaring through the air to pick off unsuspecting enemies.

They work like clockwork, Ingrid observes as she soars down, plunging her lance into the chest of a thief and yanking it out in the same motion. She dismounts her Pegasus, holding to the reins as she walks the few steps to an unlocked chest, and is just straightening up with a Short Axe in her hand when a voice behind her desperately screams, "Ingrid, duck!"

On instinct, she does, crouching low to the ground and keeping one hand wrapped in the reins of her pegasus as a thunder spell shoots over her head. She turns to watch it, one hand on her steed's flank to keep it calm, and sees it hit a bandit directly in the face a mere foot to her side. The bandit falls to the ground, dead. 

Hair rising with the lingering static electricity in the air, Ingrid turns her head, still crouched, to see Dorothea, breath heaving, a wild and terrified look in her eyes as she lowers her arm. 

"Dorothea." Ingrid is still crouched, still in shock, hair floating back to her head as she says, "You saved my life." 

Dorothea looks at her. "He was coming up on your left." She swallows. "You always leave your left open." 

Ingrid just stares at her, blue eyes meeting green.  _ How could she know that? _ She wonders.  _ I didn't even know that. _ Dorothea stares back, an unreadable yet determined look in her eyes as the battle rages on around them. Ingrid would love to linger in this moment, to stay here with Dorothea's eyes on her and her own heart pounding, but there's no time. 

Without responding to Dorothea, Ingrid straightens, slinging herself back onto her pegasus and once again taking to the sky.

* * *

**_Now_ **

* * *

The only way to get close to Felix is by sparring with him. Ingrid knows this, and that's why she stands in the training grounds, just a few weeks after winning the lance competition, trying to find a way to move to the offensive as his sword presses her steadily back.

Sylvain watches them from the side. At the sound of a sharp and impressed whistle, Ingrid is momentarily distracted, her eyes sliding to him. Felix scoffs and uses this as an opportunity to press his sword even further forward, making Ingrid give up a few more inches of space. 

_ Fuck.  _ Ingrid slides her lance out from where it's trapped in a deadlock, feinting to the right and then sidestepping left, landing a blow on his side. The whistling continues. 

Ingrid's given up too much ground, though, and eventually has to yield, throwing one hand up and saying so. She and Felix pause, wiping sweat off their brows. 

"Is that for me or you," Felix says, rather than asks, jerking his head in Sylvain's direction.

Ingrid just shrugs. 

"Fine. I dealt with him last time, so you're up."

Ingrid rolls her eyes. "Fine." She stalks past Felix, punching him on the shoulder a bit harder than necessary as she passes.

"Ingrid," Sylvain trills as she walks over. "Wonderful, you're here."

"We're trying to train, Sylvain." 

"Unimportant."

Ingrid sighs. 

"I wanted to ask how things are going with you and your lovely lady." An exaggerated eyebrow wiggle accompanies this. 

Ingrid pauses, thinking. 

_ Did he know? _

* * *

**_Earlier_ **

* * *

Ingrid pushes past Professor Byleth to catch up with Dorothea, who's walking near the front of the group as they approach the gates of the monastery.

"Hey," she calls, and Dorothea turns, pausing to let her catch up. 

"How did you know?" Ingrid continues, sparing a glance at Dorothea as they walk side by side, crossing through the marketplace. 

"Know what?" 

"About the, you know. When you killed that bandit. You said something about my left?"

"Oh." And Ingrid hopes she's not imagining the pink on Dorothea's cheeks, but she's rather sure she is when Dorothea clears her throat, saying, "Ferdie pointed it out during that competition before Eagle and Lion last month. I just remembered, I suppose."

Ingrid raises her eyebrows. "Well, remind me to say thank you to Ferdinand."

Dorothea laughs. 

Ingrid pauses in front of the steps leading into the Reception Hall as Dorothea turns, even taller than her now as she stands on the first step. 

"Question," Dorothea says with a wink.

"Okay." Ingrid looks up at her.

"The professor selected me for the White Heron Cup next month-"

"Oh, Goddess, that's coming up, isn't it?"

"Yes, and-"

"Please help me avoid Hanneman for the rest of the year."

Dorothea laughs. "Sure, darling. You can stay in my rooms any time."

Ingrid can feel her cheeks start to heat at this, but before she can interject, Dorothea presses on. "I'm sure he'll pick Annette or Mercie, anyway."

"I'm not so sure," Ingrid clasps Dorothea's hand in hers, trying to go for overdramatic and playful, but she thinks she hits more on awkward and a tad too sincere when she says, "He's getting pretty old. Very senile."

But Dorothea understands, and she laughs again. "Hold on, dear, I had something to ask you."

Oh.

_ Oh _ .

But before Ingrid's mind can run too far, Dorothea says, "Can you help me practice a bit? I'm a bit rusty and want to be at my prime once this comes around."

Ingrid swallows back the  _ 'Yes, Dorothea, there's nothing I'd love more than to go to the dance with you _ ,' that had been on the tip of her tongue. "Oh, um, I mean, did you not hear anything I just said? I'm atrocious."

"I'm sure you're not  _ too  _ terrible," Dorothea waves her off. "Besides, you're my  _ girlfriend _ , and, ironically, the only person I can trust to help me without the possibility of making things uncomfortable. Since, you know, I know you don't like me."

Right, yes, of course, Ingrid thinks. 

"Right, yes, of course," Ingrid says.

"Thank you, my Ingrid." And then Dorothea's bringing their joined hands to her lips, pressing a gentle kiss on Ingrid's knuckles. "Come by next weekend after practice?"

Ingrid doesn't need to see the glimmer in Dorothea's eyes to know her face is bright red when she says, "Okay, sure."

* * *

**_Now_ **

* * *

"Yeah, um. We're good," Ingrid winces, and Sylvain gives her a look.

"Ingrid. Babe. I know you."

"How about you never call me babe again and I won't break your arm?"

"Okay, okay. But really," he raises an eyebrow, voice playful. "What's happening?"

Ingrid crosses her arms, gaze on the ceiling as she says, "Ugh, fine. I'll tell you. Only because Felix wouldn't listen. And you're not allowed to try and give me advice."

"Aw, why not?" 

Ingrid glares at him. 

"Yeah, yeah, I get it. So tell me."

Ingrid tells him, laying out how their conversation had gone.

When she's finished, Sylvain gives a low whistle. "Has she ever, like, seen you dance?"

"No."

Sylvain laughs. 

"Shut up."

"Man, remember that one time our parents forced us to take classes together and-"

"I remember."

"-and you broke the instructor's shin after kicking it when he told you you had to let me lead."

"I  _ remember _ ." 

"Oh, man, I know you said no tips but do try not to break any of Dorothea's bones."

Ingrid huffs. "Exactly my worry here, Sylvain."

Sylvain taps his hand on his chin, watching Ingrid with a glint in his eye. "You know, Ingrid, the obvious solution here is that Dorothea likes you and wants to be closer to you."

She snorts. "Yeah, no. She specifically told me that the whole reason she's asking is because she doesn't."

"Aw, Ingrid, I don't know what to tell you. I know when someone's trying to seduce someone, and-"

"Actually, you know what? Don't finish that sentence."

He doesn't finish.

"Anyway, I said  _ don't _ try to give me advice."

Sylvain raises his hands in a defensive gesture. "What can I say? I live to please."

Ingrid gives him a disgusted look then glances at her watch. To Felix, she calls, "Hey, Fe, Sylvain's gonna take over for me so I can go."

"What? Ingrid," Sylvain whines

She doesn't look at him as she shoves her practice lance at his chest, backing towards the door. "Maybe next time don't give me unsolicited advice?" She says, voice dripping with irony.

Sylvain groans, and Ingrid looks up as he calls, walking backwards into the arena, "Have fun on your date!"

Ingrid rolls her eyes at him, turning back around as Sylvain walks into Felix and Felix shoves him off, growling, "Watch where you're going, asshole."

* * *

Twenty minutes later, Ingrid is leaning over her washbasin, splashing her face with cold water. She feels as though her dresser is a presence behind her, staring her down as she considers whether she should change or not.

She does have some new clothes, after all.

* * *

**_Earlier_ **

* * *

"Mercedes," Ingrid starts, spoon stirring a bit of sugar into her cup of tea. 

"Yes, Ingrid?"

"I need your help."

Mercedes simply looks at her, hands on the table and eyes clear. 

"I… wanted to ask if you would take me shopping."

Her reaction is immediate. Mercedes leans forward, clasping her hands in front of her. "Oh, Ingrid, absolutely nothing would make me happier." She lets out an excited shriek and throws her hands in the air. 

"Okay, okay," Ingrid says. "I can't promise I'll be looking for clothes you like to wear, I've just been… wanting a bit of a change." 

Mercedes nods quickly. "Sure, sure. Can I ask Annie if she wants to come? She loves to shop, too, and has a much better eye for fashion than me."

Ingrid shrugs. "Sure, that's fine. Just… don't make a big deal out of this, okay?" 

And that's how Ingrid finds herself in a men's clothing stand in the town outside Garreg Mach, finding tunics to be tailored, Annette and Mercedes beside her. 

Mercedes hums, poring over different fabrics. “I do know you love blue, Ingrid, but have you ever considered warmer colors? You have such a cool complexion already.” 

“Ooh, yes,” Annette says. “Maybe some pink, or even yellow?”

“Nobody looks good in yellow, Annette,” Ingrid says. 

“Claude.”

“Nobody  _ but  _ Claude looks good in yellow.”

“Hm, I think Ingrid’s right on this one,” Mercedes says, shrugging in Annette’s direction. 

In the end, Ingrid doesn’t choose any warmer colors, but she does pick out two tunics, one lighter blue and one a deep purple. The merchant ropes her into purchasing a pair of men’s breeches, too, and while Ingrid feels unsure about spending money for something so frivolous, she does so anyway at Mercedes and Annette’s reassurance that it's worth it.

Much quicker than she thought she would, Ingrid finds herself with her new clothing wrapped in tissue and placed in a bag with a wink from the shop owner and excited exclamations from Mercedes and Annette. 

On the walk back to town, Ingrid pauses for a moment in front of another stand, gazing up at the clothing there with a soft, “Oh.”

They’re slim, dignified suits in every color, some with cravats, some without, some with a trim, some with two breast pockets. Unconsciously, she takes a step forward, fingers brushing against the sleeve of a suit so black it disappears into the shadows, lined with silken golden and sky blue trim on the wrists and ankles, as well as around the edge of the coat. 

“Oh, Ingrid,” Mercedes says from behind her. “You would look so wonderful.”

“You have to get it,” Annette squeaks. “Or at least try it on!”

Ingrid breaks from her trance, looking behind her at the other girls, laden down with bags where Ingrid only has one. 

It’s not that they don’t know Ingrid’s family is poor. It's not exactly uncommon knowledge, but it’s something different to have to admit it so openly. Ingrid cringes as Annette asks how much the black suit costs, any hopes of it being even close to her price range dashed when the shopkeeper answers. 

Mercedes, bless her heart, seems to notice Ingrid’s discomfort, and appears at her side, hand slipping into hers. “Do you want to split the price? I still have some gold left over.”

Ingrid doesn’t notice how wet her voice sounds until she says, “Oh, no, Mercedes, I couldn’t ask you to do that for me.”

Mercedes gazes at her. 

“It’s okay, really.” Ingrid clears her throat, pulling her hand out of Mercedes’ to try to discreetly wipe her eyes, ignoring the quizzical look Annette gives Mercedes. 

“If you’re sure,” Mercedes murmurs, and lays a gentle hand on her shoulder before calling over to Annette. “Come on, Annie, we should start heading home.”

As the three walk through the marketplace arm in arm, Ingrid resists the urge to look back. 

There’s no use dwelling on it, really, she tells herself. It’s over and done, and maybe someday…

Maybe someday.

* * *

**_Now_ **

* * *

Ingrid pulls on the edges of her shirtsleeves, trying to make the fabric reach her wrists. She knows that it's is supposed to only reach halfway down her forearms, but here, standing outside Dorothea’s door, she feels much too barren without the extra layering of a coat. 

“Ingrid!” she looks up, startled, as Dorothea opens the door, the light from her room flooding into the night. “I’m happy you’re here.”

“Me too,” Ingrid stammers, and follows Dorothea back inside. “This is the only time I’m entering your rooms while we’re doing this, you know.”

Dorothea laughs. “Yeah, yeah. I know you nobles are all so concerned about appearances.”

Ingrid huffs. “It’s not that, it’s just… it was one of the rules, Dorothea.”

Dorothea gives her an unreadable look for a moment before sighing, shoulders relaxing as she throws her hands up in the air, saying, “True, you got me there.”

They stand in silence for a moment, and Ingrid isn’t quite sure what to do with her hands. She holds them behind her back, then places them on her hips, then clasps them in front of her. Dorothea mindlessly tidies, straightening a pile of books on her dresser.

“So, um,” Ingrid says, once the silence has grown far past acceptable, “I’m really not that good of a dancer, Dorothea.”

“Believe me, I’ve heard stories,” Dorothea titters, then turns her attention fully towards Ingrid. “I mostly just need some practice leading, darling. There’s nothing you have to do but follow me.”

Ingrid feels a weird mix of disappointment and relief at those words, remembering what Sylvain had said earlier about Dorothea inviting her here for wooing purposes, and half to herself, she replies. “Oh, that makes more sense.”

“More sense than what?”

“Oh, um,” Ingrid flushes, taking a step back. “Nothing. It doesn’t matter.”

Dorothea smiles at her, eyes crinkling in the corners as she steps closer. “Okay,” she says, drawing the word out. 

“Okay.”

Dorothea steps closer again, and reaches out for Ingrid’s hand. “Come on, let’s dance.”

Ingrid steps forward, accepting Dorothea’s hand in hers and setting her other hand on Dorothea’s shoulder. She swallows down her blush at the feeling of Dorothea's hand settling on her waist, resolutely keeping her gaze on a spot on the wall over Dorothea’s shoulder. 

“You good there?” And there’s Dorothea’s head, leaning to the side to break Ingrid’s stare with a smile. 

Ingrid looks at her, letting out a nervous laugh. “Yeah, sorry, fine.”

“You don’t have to apologize,” Dorothea chides, then straightens her shoulders. “Okay, now just follow my lead. First step back.”

Ingrid steps back as Dorothea steps forward, and Dorothea walks her through the steps of a simple waltz, keeping count quietly. Ingrid starts to relax as they hit their stride, feeling more comfortable in the simple steps. She hopes her hand isn’t too sweaty, clasped in Dorothea’s like this. 

“I wonder,” Dorothea asks after a few beats of silence. “What changed?”

“Hm?” Ingrid is staring down, trying to keep herself from stepping on Dorothea’s toes as they sway. 

“I mean,” Dorothea shifts her hand, which has since settled on Ingrid’s hip, back up to her waist. “I know you said at Eagle and Lion that you weren’t used to anyone but Mercedes and Sylvain touching you, but you seem pretty comfortable now.” Ignoring Ingrid's blush, Dorothea presses on. “I want to know what changed.”

Ingrid’s mind freezes, and she doesn’t know how to say,  _ ‘Why, Dorothea, it’s because I was deeply attracted to you when this first started out, and while I still am, I now believe I’m in love with you, as well, which makes things quite a bit easier,’ _ so she doesn’t. Instead, she says. “I guess I don’t really know. I mean, you’re one of my closest friends now, so that might be it.”

“Ah, friends,” Dorothea says, and Ingrid takes in a sharp breath as Dorothea’s grip on her waist tightens, pulling her closer as Dorothea slides around so her fingertips are resting on the small of her back. 

"Friends," Ingrid repeats, and she hopes to Sothis her face isn't as red as it feels. 

"Have I told you," Dorothea says, and she's stopped moving, and Ingrid knows she shouldn't move until Dorothea does, so she stands there, entranced. "How absolutely angelic you look tonight?" 

Ingrid spares a glance down at her outfit. She's wearing the light blue tunic with her new breeches, and a secret thrill runs through her at Dorothea's words.

"You're very, what's the word?" Dorothea thinks for a moment. "Very handsome."

"I-," Ingrid starts, then stops. She swallows, and her gaze falls to Dorothea's lips, soft and pink, the bottom one worried between her teeth. 

"Not handsome?" Dorothea says, and resumes their steps. "I can use something else, if you like." 

"No, it's just," Ingrid searches her mind, but it's too much, it's all too much, and all she finds is static. "It's the first time I've…. But I like handsome." The word feels foreign yet familiar on her tongue. "I think I like it a lot."

Dorothea smiles. "Okay then, handsome Ingrid. Want to try for a twirl?" 

And before she can answer, Ingrid finds herself being released from Dorothea's grip, Dorothea's hand lightly guiding her into a small spin. Ingrid laughs.

"What's so funny?" Dorothea says, teasing.

"Nothing, it's just… What's the real reason you asked me here tonight, Dorothea?" 

Ingrid notes the slight tinge of pink rising to Dorothea’s cheeks as she takes Ingrid back into her arms, chest to chest, replying, “Is it so bad I want to spend time with my favorite girl?”

Ingrid snorts. “Save the pet names for when we’re in public, please.”

Dorothea’s smile freezes, and though her mouth relaxes seconds after, the guarded expression in her eyes stays. They dance, and Ingrid’s not so much caring about the steps anymore, and she steps on Dorothea’s toes, once, twice. Dorothea graciously ignores this. 

“Ready for the dip?” 

Ingrid is very much so not ready for the dip, but she nods, anyway. “If you drop me, I’ll kill you.”

Dorothea laughs. “Oh, Ingrid, I don’t doubt that for a second.” 

And then Ingrid’s being swung around, and guided gently backwards. She bends her knees, not knowing quite what to do, but Dorothea must be stronger than she looks, because her hand is steady against Ingrid's spine as she leans over her. Ingrid feels Dorothea’s soft sigh on her throat as they reach the vertex of the descent, and she closes her eyes as she’s pulled back up. 

It’s Dorothea who let’s go, first, and as soon as she does, Ingrid comes back to herself and takes a step back, brushing her bangs away from her face. 

They stand for a moment, and Ingrid doesn't want to be the first to budge, for once, but Dorothea’s eyes are round, and they’re warm, and they’re looking at her in such an open and saccharine way, that Ingrid sputters, after mere moments, “That wasn’t as bad as I thought it was going to be.”

And thank the goddess,  _ thank the goddess, _ Dorothea looks away, laughing. “Why don’t you tell me how you really feel, darling Ingrid.”

“I told you I thought it was going to be a disaster,” but Ingrid’s laughing, too, and before she can lose her nerve, she continues, “So we’re going to the ball together, right?”

Dorothea doesn’t miss a beat. “Obviously. We’re girlfriends, remember?”

Ingrid nods a bit too vigorously. “Yes. Girlfriends. Of course. Good.”

Dorothea smiles. 

“Oh, and one more thing,” Ingrid says. 

“Yes?”

Ingrid rubs the back of her neck with one hand, feeling much more uncomfortable than she had about the last invitation. “My older sister, Hero, she's engaged and she’s getting married the weekend before the ball.”

“Okay.”

“Do you want to, um, go with me?” Ingrid takes a breath. “We can go to House Galatea together, and if you don’t want to, it’s okay, I just figured you might enjoy it and also we won’t have to act like a couple there because my dad doesn’t know what’s going on, and I was going to ask Sylvain, but I don’t really want to watch him flirt with my newly married sister for two hours.”

Dorothea laughs. “Oh, he definitely would. Of course, my Ingrid. That sounds fun. I do love a good wedding.”

Ingrid sighs, relieved. “Okay, sounds good. Thank you.”

“Since you’re coming to the opera in a few weeks, it’s only fair for me to repay you.”

Right. The opera. “Oh, yes! What day is that again?”

“Don’t tell me you’d forgotten?” Dorothea says, eyes light. 

“I must confess that I did,” Ingrid admits sheepishly. “I’ll be there, though. Don’t even worry.”

“Good. I look forward to seeing you in the audience.”

Ingrid doesn’t quite know what to say to that, so she says nothing, studying her fingernails instead. 

“Again?” She looks up to see Dorothea, hand outstretched. 

Ingrid smiles, and falls back into her arms. 

* * *

**Coming Up: Standing in the Back of Your Show**

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I guess I have a Twitter now? This is something that is happening. Come talk to me @bizzybee429 !


	6. So Well as You

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ingrid attends a show, wherein conversations and certain realizations occur.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I would like to formally apologize for Ingrid and Dorothea's obliviousness in the last chapter, but in their defense, every character in this fic shares a braincell and most of the time Mercedes has it.
> 
> This update is a day early because I adore this chapter and I think you all will, too. 
> 
> Writing this took awhile, and for the entire time I basically was listening to the song [Standing in the Back at Your Show](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=WIGd1jQRq-w) by the Wild Ones. Give it a listen, if you like. 
> 
> As always, thanks to my marvelous beta reader, Kelsey!

Ingrid sits in the front pew of the Cathedral, leg bouncing up and down as she clutches a single red flower in her fist. She wishes she had thought this through earlier, as the petals have already begun to wilt and she's quite sure she's flattened the stem in her iron grip.

She and Leonie arrived early, and as neither of them are particularly devout, most of their time has been spent in silence or in making idle chatter, rather than prayer. 

Now, however, more of the audience has begun to trickle in, filling in the pews behind them. 

With the Cathedral now filled with the soft buzzing of whispering voices, Leonie shifts, sparing a glance over her shoulder before leaning in closer to Ingrid. 

"I wish I'd thought to get Hilda a gift," she admits, and Ingrid flushes. 

"Oh, I'd hardly call it a gift," Ingrid says. "It's looking pretty rumpled already."

"Still, though. I bet Dorothea will like it." Leonie grins. 

"I hope so."

They sit in silence for a moment. 

"Leonie, when did you decide to cut your hair short?” Ingrid asks. Leonie glances at her. 

“Why are you wondering? I mean, it’s whatever.” Leonie leans back in the pew, stretching her legs out in front of her. “I just like it short, have since I was a kid. It was short when I worked with Captain Jeralt and it’s never been longer than my shoulders.”

“I wasn’t asking to insult,” Ingrid assures her. “It looks good. It suits you.” 

A corner of Leonie’s mouth turns up in a smile. “Aw, thanks Ingrid. Your hair always looks good, too.”

She scoffs out a laugh. “Ha. Don’t know so much about that one.” She pauses. “I might like mine as short as yours, someday.”

“That’d be interesting.” Leonie reaches out, pulling a strand of hair that has slipped free of the bun Ingrid had put it into out from behind her ear. “You’d look good with short hair. Maybe a little longer than mine, though, since it’s so thick.”

“Do you really mean that?” Ingrid can’t help the smile that comes over her face. 

“Yeah.” Leonie smiles back. “Plus, Dorothea would absolutely love it.”

“Oh,” Ingrid says, eyes widening. She doesn’t say anything further, just turns back to the front and tucks her hair back behind her ears. 

* * *

Dorothea forgets how strange her friends are sometimes, until now, today, as she finds herself standing in a back room of the Cathedral, Hilda and Ferdinand bracketing her shoulders, each with a hand, currently competing to see who can hit the highest note. 

Sure, Mittelfrank had its own strange warmup traditions, but Dorothea is quite sure this has gone past the point of warming up and into the realm of vocal chord damage. 

Thankfully, the two are cut off by the appearance of Manuela in the doorway leading to the main Cathedral, giving a single clap. Everybody stands to order, save Caspar, who’s sitting on an empty box as he continues to struggle with taming down his hair in a mirror than Annette is holding up for him. 

“Places,” Manuela trills. 

Ferdinand claps Dorothea on the back. “Shall we, Dorothea?”

As she takes Ferdinand’s arm, she wonders if Ingrid is in the audience. She hopes so, and as much as she tells herself that it’s solely for the sake of their little scheme, she can’t help but want it for more than that. 

She’s never gotten nerves from performing before, but the thought of Ingrid, in the audience, watching her sing for the first time, forces her to take two deep breaths before exiting the room, Ferdinand at her side. This is far from the most stressful performance she’s ever done, and Ingrid will love it no matter what. 

She will, right?

* * *

It's not Dorothea's best performance, but it's certainly not her worst, either. It's as informal a stage she's ever been on - just the plain Cathedral floor, with no sets and no wings, but the Cathedral is beautiful enough on its own.

She sees Ingrid as soon as she steps into the main hall, beaming at her from Leonie's side, hands clasped in her lap. She's wearing the waistcoat Dorothea lent her, and Dorothea very decidedly has to look away when she makes eye contact and Ingrid’s blush deepens.

Goddess. 

Ferdinand is spectacular, if not overdramatic at parts. Dorothea has to admit Manuela knew what she was doing, casting them side by side. Their chemistry shines onstage, and Dorothea doesn't know anyone else she'd rather harmonize with as they clasp hands, gazing into each other's eyes.

Lorenz is perfectly uptight as Dorothea's father, and Dorothea wonders if he's perhaps just playing an older version of himself. Hilda, a surprisingly deep alto, offers great support to Dorothea as her lady-in-waiting, scheming plans with Ferdinand's butler, played by Caspar, to help Dorothea find ways to meet up with her love. 

The opera ends with two weddings - Caspar and Hilda's, and Ferdinand and Dorothea's. As they close off the ending notes with a chaste kiss, Dorothea pulls away. She can't help but smile at Ferdinand, who grins right back at her, freckles standing out on his pink cheeks. 

Not her best performance, certainly, but perhaps her most fun.

The cast turns to the front, joining hand in hand and taking a small, uniform bow. The audience politely and quietly applauds and as it all dies down, the performers make their way into the crowds to speak with the other students.

Dorothea watches as Caspar lets out a loud yelp, running down the aisle and into Linhardt's arms. Linhardt staggers back, but doesn't drop him, eyes half-lidded as he holds Caspar and yawns into his hand over Caspar's shoulder. 

Dorothea means to cross over to say hi to Ingrid, but she's talking to Annette, and, remembering how awkward Annette has been around her lately, Dorothea makes her way to Leonie and Hilda instead, giving them each a hug and a kiss on the cheek.

After greeting a few others, she finds herself at Ferdinand's side again. He wraps his arm around Dorothea's shoulder and gives her a half hug. Dorothea rests her head on his shoulder. They stand in silence for a moment, and Dorothea feels comfortable, at home, even, standing with Ferdinand like this.

At a tap on her shoulder, Dorothea lifts her head and turns, as does Ferdinand. Edelgard and Hubert stand, Hubert to the side and a step behind, Edelgard with a small, bright smile on her face. 

“That was amazing, Dorothea,” Edelgard congratulates, nodding her head in Dorothea’s direction. “I no longer feel as though I’m on the outside of any conversation discussing your Mittelfrank performances.”

Dorothea waits for a tug in her heart at this, but it never comes. It never comes, and the thought dissipates all together when Hubert turns to her, hands behind his back, and takes a small bow. “Astute performance, Dorothea.”

“Aw, thanks, Hubie.”

Hubert straightens, clearing his throat. “Ferdinand,” he turns to him, reaching one arm out to gently brush against his arm. Ferdinand jumps. “If I may have a word?”

The two step away, Dorothea catching the crimson blush on Ferdinand’s face before she turns back to Edelgard. Edelgard looks at her for a moment before letting out a giggle. Dorothea bursts into laughter. 

“Oh, Goddess, they think they’re being subtle, don’t they?” Dorothea says. 

Edelgard smiles. “If anything, I’m happy for Hubert. He deserves to have something for himself.”

“Ferdie, too.”

“You can’t tell him you know, all right?” Edelgard says. “If Hubert finds out, well, you know. He’d break both his heart and Ferdinand’s.”

“Oh, trust me.” Dorothea winks. “The secret is  _ quite _ safe with me.”

Edelgard smiles, relieved. “Thank you, Dorothea.” She shifts. “I’m looking forward to that opera about me even more now, you know.”

“Of course,” Dorothea replies. “It’s definitely happening. Maybe one day they’ll perform it here at the Monastery, too.”

Edelgard lets out a small laugh. “Oh, I don’t know about that. I don’t think my story is one they’ll sing about in churches.”

“Why, we’ll just have to see, won’t we?”

“I guess we will.” Edelgard smiles warmly, looking over Dorothea’s shoulder. “Ah, I should let you be, now. Congratulations, Dorothea."

Edelgard nods and turns, working through the crowds to make her way to where Hubert and Ferdinand are still speaking in hushed tones. 

Expecting Ingrid, Dorothea turns on her heel, her smile brightening. At the sight of Manuela approaching her, Dorothea attempts not to let her smile drop. It's not that she doesn't want to see Manuela, per say, but, well, she was quite looking forward to seeing someone else. 

"Oh, don't look at me like that," Manuela scolds, but she's smiling. "Let me give my favorite student a hug."

Dorothea accepts the hug, breathing in the familiar scent of floral perfume and whiskey. 

"Sit with me," Manuela invites, tilting her head towards one of the empty pews. Dorothea sits, one arm on the back of the pew, turned towards Manuela. 

The two rest in silence for a moment, before Manuela remarks, mouth quirked in a small smirk, "It's nothing quite like it was back in the Company, is it?" 

Dorothea hums her agreement. "It truly isn't." Here, she may not enjoy the same professionalism as she did those years ago, but she's surrounded by friends, surrounded by people that don't just love her for her looks and her voice. "It might just be better, though."

"Maybe," Manuela concedes, and Dorothea shifts, laying her head on Manuela's shoulder.

"Your  _ girlfriend _ looked absolutely enraptured." Manuela says. 

Dorothea swallows, face flushing. "I should hope so." She lets out a nervous laugh. 

"You know," Manuela's voice is teasing, sly, "you could have told me you two weren't together, honey."

Dorothea freezes. “Um.” 

“Oh, come now, Dot.” Manuela shrugs Dorothea off her shoulder and she sits up straight, face pink. “We’ve known each other far too long to keep secrets from each other like this.”

“Is it that obvious?” 

“Oh, no. Just to me.” Manuela smiles at her, tapping Dorothea’s knee with one hand. They pause for a moment, before Manuela adds, “You want to know what else is obvious?”

“I don’t know, do I?”

“It’s clear to me that you  _ do _ have real feelings for her.” 

Dorothea groans, leaning her head back over the pew. 

“I’m right, aren’t I?” Dorothea can hear the smirk in Manuela’s voice. 

“I don’t wish to speak of it.”

“All right, honey, that’s fine.” Dorothea sits back up to see Manuela is smiling kindly at her. “Just know that it’s okay for your future plans to change. And you can talk to me about it whenever you want.”

“I know, Manuela. Thank you.”

“You know, Dorothea, you could just get it over with and kiss her. I’m sure she wouldn’t mind.”

“ _ Manuela _ .”

* * *

Ingrid sits on one of the many boxes in the room behind the main Cathedral, eyes unfocused as she looks around the room. Dorothea’s makeup satchel sits on yet another box. Other choir members have been in and out to collect their possessions all night, a few giving Ingrid knowing looks, Annette and Ferdinand giving her encouraging smiles. 

She never did get the chance to speak to Dorothea earlier that night - Annette was clutched to her side until most everyone had faded out of the Cathedral. Dorothea was still speaking to Professor Manuela when she’d finally extriated herself from her friend’s grasp, and Ingrid didn’t want to be impolite. Thus, she sits, her flower for Dorothea still gripped tight in her hands, trying to ignore the waves in the pit of her stomach.

“Oh, there you are, Ingrid.” She looks up to see Dorothea, standing in the doorway, the moonlight shining through the high Cathedral windows behind her, the single lantern in the room illuminating her face. 

Ingrid stands. “I got you a flower,” she blurts out, shoving the drooping red stem towards Dorothea. “Sorry it doesn’t look good.”

She feels herself flush at Dorothea’s laugh when she looks down at the bloom. “Oh, Ingrid, this is  _ definitely  _ a weed.”

Ingrid feels herself wilt at that. “Oh.” She pulls it back, but Dorothea reaches out her hand. 

“Hold on, my Ingrid. That doesn’t mean I don’t want it.” Ingrid is frozen as Dorothea gently uncurls her fingers, taking the flower and tucking it behind her own ear. “It even matches my dress.” And it does - Ingrid can’t seem to take her eyes off her, the red of the flower the same shade as Dorothea’s gown, the green in her eyes standing out among all the crimson.

“Sorry it’s not a bouquet.”

“Aw, you were going to get me a bouquet?”

Ingrid shuffles her feet, scratching the back of her neck with one hand. “I’m a good fake girlfriend, you know.”

Dorothea laughs. 

“I wanted to tell you how great you were in the show,” Ingrid says.

“Oh? Please do,” 

“Hush. I’ve never heard you sing before and it was… nice. You’re very talented.”

Dorothea hums for a moment. “And what’s that you said about never being one for the arts?”

“Well, maybe you proved me wrong.”

“Aw. Compliment me more. I liked it.”

Ingrid blinks. Her face is hot, and for once she’s regretting dressing up in more layers than strictly necessary, as the rest of her is starting to feel much too warm as well. “Um, well, I really liked that one part, when, um,” she trails off, waving her hands to try and show her meaning. 

“Which part?’ Dorothea asks, and she has one eyebrow raised, and she steps closer, and Ingrid’s mind is blank. It’s completely blank. 

“The one, um, aria I think it’s called? When you were standing right in the center in the front and singing about how even though the commoner was just that, a commoner, you still loved him. It was very sweet.”

“Oh?”

Goddess, did she ever let up? “Yes. It was very… breathtaking.”

“Breathtaking, huh?” Dorothea winks. “I must admit you were looking pretty breathtaking, too, there in the audience.” She nods towards Ingrid’s waistcoat, a red, embroidered piece Dorothea let her borrow. “I know blue is your color, but you must just look good in everything.”

“Oh, stop, Dorothea.” Ingrid resists the urge to cover her face with her hands. “You’re going to make me blush.”

“Hm? Are you not blushing already?” Dorothea takes another step forward. 

“No.” Ingrid means it to sound forceful, but it comes out more as a question. 

“I’d say you’re about as red as your waistcoat right now.” Dorothea’s fingers brush against Ingrid’s wrist as she reaches out, fingering the darker red embroidery. Then, hands dropping, she huffs out a breath, meeting Ingrid’s eyes and smiling. “You should keep this coat, by the way. It looks way better on you than it ever did on me.”

“Oh, no, I couldn’t.” Ingrid pulls the cuffs further down her wrists. “It’s much too fancy for me.”

“But you look so handsome!”

And there it is again, that word. Handsome. “I’m sure it looks even better on you.”

Dorothea snorts. “Doubtful. You have a much better build for it. A bit like a stick.”

“Hey-”

“ _ Not _ in a bad way,” Dorothea corrects. “It just fits you. Very nicely.”

“Well, I’m not taking your coat.”

“Fine,” Dorothea shrugs, and she throws up her hands, surrendering. The flower escapes from behind her ear, fluttering to the ground. 

There’s a bit of a scrambling as Ingrid bends down, intent on picking up the flower before it takes even more damage, but her head knocks against Dorothea’s, and they both laugh as they reach for it at the same time. Ingrid takes it in one hand, straightening. 

“May I?” She asks, hesitantly reaching out. Dorothea nods. Ingrid takes a step forward, and brushes along Dorothea’s cheekbone, tucking the flower back behind her ear along with a strand of hair. She finds herself lingering for a moment, eyes trained on her own hand, fingertips resting against Dorothea’s jaw. Goddess.

She startles into pulling away when Dorothea takes a sharp intake of breath, and takes a step back, letting her hand drop to her side. “Um, sorry.”

“Hey, it’s okay,” Dorothea’s voice is kind, but with something lurking underneath that Ingrid can’t quite recognize.

“No, it’s not, sorry. It was wholly unnecessary and I should’ve just let you do it-”

“Hold on,” Dorothea steps closer, arms up in a conciliatory gesture.

“No, no, it’s all right. Only around other people, I know this-” Ingrid can feel her voice starting to crack, and she hates it.

“Ingrid-”

“Even though I just don’t know how much longer-” And she should shut up, she should really shut up, but the nervous adrenaline has been pent up for so long, and-

“Ingrid-”

“And I just don’t know what we’re doing anymore, and-”

“Ingrid.” 

Ingrid’s mouth snaps shut at the feeling of Dorothea’s hand on her chin, thumb against her jaw, tilting her face up towards hers. 

“What?” She doesn’t know where to look - Dorothea’s hand, Dorothea’s eyes, Dorothea’s mouth, they’re all vying for her attention. It’s all Dorothea.

“Do you remember what I said that one time? About giving you a warning before I pounce?”

Ingrid swallows. “Yes.” 

“Well.” And Dorothea doesn’t say anything else, but she’s leaning in slowly. She pauses, a breath away, and Ingrid is frozen, captivated, a stone wall that melts into nothing as she feels Dorothea’s lips on hers.

* * *

The kiss is gentle, but Dorothea pulls away after just a moment at Ingrid’s utter inaction. “This okay?” she asks. 

Ingrid’s eyes are wide, her hair frizzing just a bit around the edges. “There’s no one watching,” she breathes, and Dorothea almost has to laugh. She really is too adorable. 

“I know.” 

The look in Ingrid’s eyes changes. Before Dorothea can decipher what it is, though, they’re closed, and Ingrid’s surging forward.

And as Ingrid, face flushed and lips on hers, gently holds Dorothea by the wrists and walks her backwards until Dorothea’s back presses against the far wall, all thoughts go blank. 

Here's what kissing Ingrid isn't: it's not boring. It's not practice. It's not like many other kisses Dorothea has given through the years. It's not an obligation. It's not discomfort curling in Dorothea's belly when she knows there will never be a second date, as lips part and breaths quicken. It's not greedy. It's not empty. It's not an exchange.

Here's what kissing Ingrid is: gentleness, and fire, and feeling held inside her arms at Dorothea's waist, at her cheeks, in her hair; heat, and hearts pounding; and taking Ingrid's hair out of its bun, combing her fingers through it, and Ingrid groaning, and pulling her closer; wonder, and sweetness, and passion and tears and kindness and nervousness and love. 

Frustratingly, aggravatingly, Dorothea has to pull away to breathe for a moment, leaning back against the wall. Ingrid chases her lips, but at a hand against her shoulder, she pauses. 

“Ingrid,” Dorothea says, and then trails off, breathing heavily. “Are you alright with this? What changed?”

She had meant it as a casual question, one to see when Ingrid decided kissing Dorothea was something she wanted to do, but Ingrid freezes, her grip on Dorothea’s waist tightening. “Changed?” Her voice is tight, confused, nervous.

“Definitely not in a bad way, I just mean-”

“I haven’t changed.” Ingrid drops her hands, stepping away, and the loss of Ingrid’s presence feels cold on Dorothea’s skin. Ingrid swipes the back of her hand over her mouth, turning so her back is to Dorothea.

“Um,” Dorothea says. “Okay. Are you alright, Ingrid? I truly didn’t mean anything by it.”

“I..,” Ingrid trails off.

“What’s wrong?”

Ingrid sighs, the silence enveloping them, then straightens her shoulders. She turns back to Dorothea with a too-bright smile, but when Dorothea looks into her eyes, they’re not the same as they were moments before. “Nothing, Dorothea. I’m fine. Um, thank you. That was… nice.”

“Ingrid.”

“It’s getting pretty late. Can I walk you back to your room?”

“Um, sure.”

Ingrid doesn’t offer her arm, and Dorothea doesn’t take it. Instead, they leave the Cathedral, steps echoing off the tall ceilings. Dorothea spares glances at Ingrid as they walk, as she rebraids her hair, resolutely not making eye contact. They part amicably at Dorothea’s door, if not a bit coldly, and as Ingrid walks away, she doesn’t look back. 

* * *

**Coming up: Tea, and then tea, and then tea again.**

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Come talk to me on tumblr [@dorogrids](dorogrids.tumblr.com) or twitter [@bizzybee429](https://twitter.com/bizzybee429)!


	7. Intermission

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A teatime interlude.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I have good news and I have bad news!
> 
> Good news:  
> \- this chapter is a day early again! woo!  
> \- I have decided to add an epilogue to this fic after beta advice and specific comments from a few readers. This means I changed the fic to be 11 instead of 10 chapters. More dorogrid!
> 
> And now for the Bad:  
> \- this chapter is short. like very short. and I'm SO sorry. It's more of an intermission than a chapter.  
> \- I need to take another week off. The world is falling to shit and I'm quite sick right now; therefore, I haven't been able to work on this story as much as I want to. The next chapter will come two Fridays from now. Sorry!
> 
> As always - so much thanks to everyone that leaves kudos and comments on this fic. I appreciate you all so much. And much thanks to my awesome beta Isa who helped me make this interlude flow better!

“Ingrid! I brought some sweets. I know you love my peach cobbler.”

A chair being pulled out. “Oh, Mercie, you’re a lifesaver. Thank you.” 

“Of course!”

The clink of spoon against teacup. 

“Hero’s getting married in a bit, isn’t she?”

“Oh, yes. I forgot you two attended the School of Sorcery together.”

“That’s all right.”

“I should’ve had you as my guest, I’m sorry Mercedes. I completely forgot.”

A twinkling laugh. “Oh, Ingrid, don’t worry about it for a moment. I don’t mind at all. I knew you’d ask Dorothea, anyway. We weren’t that close.”

“Even so-”

“Hush, now, Ingrid. Time to talk about the ball.” 

“Oh, right. I guess, are you going with anyone?”

“Hm. Not really. Annie and Bernie are going together, so I suppose I’ll tag along with them.” 

“That’s nice.” 

“Yes, it will be.” A sly glance over a teacup. “Are you going with Dorothea?”

A blush. “Yes.” A beat. In a rush, “We kissed last night.”

The sound of teacup meeting saucer. “Yes, I know. I’ve seen her kiss you before, you know.” 

Flustered, “No, really, we kissed. No one else was there. I don’t think it was practice.”

A beat. 

“I’m excited, Mercedes. For the first time in my life. I think this could be something real.”

A beat. 

“Ingrid.”

“What?”

“I’m sorry. I don’t want to hurt your feelings, really, but have you told Dorothea how you feel about her?”

“No.”

“And that you’ve been in love with her for ages?”

A pause. “No.”

Sigh. “Oh, Ingrid.”

“What?”

“Sweetie.”

“Mercedes, what do you mean?”

“I love you, Ingrid. I just don’t know if you and Dorothea are on the same page right now.”

“Oh. Okay. You can think that, but, I mean, she kissed me first.”

A hand stretched across the table. “I think you need to tell her about your feelings.”

“I think she already knows.”

“You won’t know for sure if you don’t tell her. I just want what’s best for you. I don’t want to see you get hurt.”

Pause. 

Another pause. 

A sigh. “I don’t want to talk about this right now.”

“Okay, Ingrid.” 

The chair scrapes back. “I, um. I need to go.” 

“I understand. Know I’m here for you, okay?”

“I know, Mercedes. I know.”

A sigh from the table as the door closes.

* * *

“Why, Mercedes. What’s a lovely lady such as yourself doing asking  _ me _ out for tea?”

“Oh, Sylvain.” A pause. “Has Ingrid told you anything about she and Dorothea lately?”

“Not really. Why?”

A hum. “I’m a bit worried.”

“Aw, Mercedes.” A wink. “You know you can always trust me.”

“Well, I don’t mean to be a gossip…”

“My lips are sealed.”

“... Oh, all right. Did Ingrid tell you they kissed?”

“What? No. Tell me more.”

“Oh, she didn’t? I don’t really know if I should share.”

“Ah, that’s okay, Mercedes. You don’t have to say anything you don’t wanna. Gonna be honest, though, I don’t know what’s got you worried about that.”

A pause. 

“Ingrid just hasn’t told Dorothea how she feels.”

“Ah.”

“But really, that’s all I can say. Ask Ingrid.”

“All right, all right. I get it.”

A beat. 

“Say, Mercedes, you’re a special lady.”

A giggle. “So you’ve said, Sylvain.”

“Go to the ball with me? As friends, of course.” 

“Sure, sure, Sylvain. Did Felix say no?”

“What? No.” 

“Hm.” 

“Okay, maybe.”

Laughter. “Yes, Sylvain, we can go together. It’ll be fun.”

* * *

“Hilda.” It’s drawn out, accompanied by a wink. “Fancy meeting you here. Did you do something new with your hair?”

“Sylvain, sweetie, how are you doing? No need to pretend you didn’t invite me here, and no, sorry to say my hair’s the same drab pink as always.”

“Aw, Hilda. Don’t ever say that. You know your hair is beautiful.”

A light slap. “Hand’s off the ‘tails, buddy. And thanks.” 

“Anyway, Hil.” Pause for a bite of sorbet. Waving the spoon around. “You know what’s going on with our two darling friends, right?”

“I mean, probably, but you’ll have to disclose which two friends you’re talking about. I have more than two, you know.”

“Right, right. These two particular friends are the talk of the town right now, though. Go by the names of Dorothea and Ingrid?”

“Ooh, yes. I  _ do _ know what’s happening with them. The real question is, do  _ you _ ?”

A pause. Maintaining eye contact. 

Looking away. “Y’know, I thought I did, but…”

“Yeah, yeah. Suck it up, Sylvie. You know nothing.”

“...I guess the fact that they made out after the Opera is old news by now.”

A dropped spoon clattering against the table. “ _ What _ ?”

A little too innocently, “Oh, you didn’t know? My, Hilda, your gossip game has sure lost its touch.”

“My gossip game is perfectly at its peak, thank you very much.”

“Hm.” Scrape of a bench as it’s pushed back.

“Wait, Sylvain, I need to know more.”

“Ooh, sorry. Not my information to share.” A wink. “Ask Dorothea.”

“Ugh.” Calling after, “You’re ridiculous, Gautier.”

A blown kiss over a shoulder as the door swings shut.

* * *

“Hilda! It’s rare that you’re the one to invite me over for tea.”

“Yeah, yeah, Dory. This is a one-time thing. Sit down.”

Pouring from teapot to cup. Scoop of sugar. A sip to taste. Coughing, “Shit, Hilda. You weren’t lying when you told Ferdie you didn’t know how to make tea.” 

“Aw, me, a liar? Never.” Dramatically, “How could you ever have such a low opinion of your dear friend Hilda?”

Laughter. “Oh, sweetheart. Put a sock in it.”

A pause as drinks are sipped.

Too casually, “So what’s this I hear about you and a certain handsome blonde? And an opera? And what happened after?”

A beat. “I’m afraid I don’t quite know what you mean.”

“Oh, honey. Who’s the liar now?”

A half-annoyed, half-amused look. 

A pause. 

“Ugh, fine. We kissed.” 

“Ha! I knew it.”

“Like, a real kiss.”

“Yeah, no, I got that much.”

“She kissed me back.”

“Yeah, no, I got that, too.”

“And it was, I don’t know.” A sigh. “It was nice. And kinda hot.”

“Yeah, no, I definitely understand. I just wanted to hear you admit-”

“But then she pulled away and I don’t really know what happened? And now I’ve worried I’ve made things uncomfortable between us.”

“Hmmm,” tapping on the table. “I’ve never known you to be one to care about whether things are uncomfortable before.”

“I mean, definitely, but-”

“Aw, you like her!”

“ _ As a friend _ , but anyway, it doesn’t matter, because she likes Sylvain.”

“Oh, honey, you are totally crushing.”

“Ugh.”

“And, Sylvain, really? I don’t know if he’s really Ingrid’s  _ type _ .” 

A pause. 

A sigh. 

Head in hands, “Fuck.”

“Hm?”

“I’m in love with Ingrid.”

“There, now was that so hard?”

A groan in place of an answer.

* * *

“Dorothea.”

“Ingrid.”

A beat. Stiffly, “How are you today?”

“Oh, you know me. I’m wonderful.”

“That’s nice to hear.”

A pause. 

“I’m pretty good, too.”

“Oh, really? Only, ‘pretty good’?”

“Dorothea.”

Teasingly, “I’d like to think, after last weekend-”

Slightly exasperated, “Dorothea.”

“What?”

“Can we maybe, I don’t know, not do this right now?”

A pause. 

“I mean, sure, Ingrid, but I’d really like to talk about it.”

“Just-”

“Listen, Ingrid, I know that-”

“Please, stop.”

A prolonged pause. 

Miffed, drawn out, “Okay.”

A choked sob. 

Gentler, “Ingrid?”

* * *

**Coming up: Wedding bells are ringing.**

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I feel like a fake Ferdinand fan for not including him in a chapter that's literally ALL about tea. Sorry Ferdie :(
> 
> Thanks for reading! Come talk to me on tumblr [@dorogrids](https://dorogrids.tumblr.com) or twitter [@bizzybee429](https://twitter.com/bizzybee429).


	8. The Gentleman is Not in Your Books

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ingrid and Dorothea attend a wedding.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you all for reading! Hope you're all staying happy and healthy in these uncertain times. A few things:
> 
> \- unfortunately because of, like *waves hand at just the world in general right now*, I'm going to have to switch to updating every other week for the duration of the fic. Apologies!  
> \- In this chapter I name Ingrid's siblings - if there ever comes a time where they receive canon names/canon number and ages, then oops? Their names come from the Shakespeare play Much Ado About Nothing, as does each chapter title and the name of the fic. In addition, Ingrid's sister, Hero, is mute and uses sign language to speak. i based her expressions and non-verbal communication on American Sign Language, as there's no set canon for Fodlan Sign Language.
> 
> There is a content warning for alcohol consumption in the last section of this chapter. It's minor, and none involved get anything more than slightly tipsy, but it's there. If you'd like to skip it, it's the section that starts with "Ingrid loses sight of Dorothea."

It’s only once they’ve left the gravel pathway leading from the Monastery to the main road that Ingrid realizes how utterly quiet it is in their carriage. 

Now, the ride is smooth, with nothing but the sound of the horses’ hooves to fill the silence. Dorothea sits across from her, gazing out the window at the passing countryside. Ingrid looks at Dorothea, and wills her to look back. 

Ingrid can admit she’s never been good at this whole "feelings" thing. She’s never really been interested in anyone before Dorothea, at least not in a way that matters. It’s all treading new waters for her, and so when Dorothea catches her eye and offers a warm smile, Ingrid tentatively smiles back. 

Dorothea opens her mouth, and for a moment Ingrid thinks she’s going to bring up the kiss again. She wouldn’t be entirely opposed to that. However, she can’t help the bitter mix of disappointment and relief when, instead, Dorothea says, “Is there anything I need to know before we arrive? I’ve been in my share of noble houses, but if there’s anything specific...”

Ingrid shakes her head. Dorothea turns back to the window. 

“Hero’s marrying into House Rowe,” Ingrid blurts. “And she doesn’t really talk at all. Out loud. That’s important, I guess.”

“All right.” 

“Her husband bears the crest of Cichol.”

“Okay.”

“I have two little brothers. John and Antonio.”

“Okay.”

Ingrid turns to the window. “That’s it.”

A beat. 

“Oh, and the wedding’s tomorrow. We’ll sleep at Galatea Manor tonight and tomorrow and then come back.”

“Sounds fine to me.”

“Now that’s it.”

Dorothea hums her thanks. 

The silence fills the carriage again. 

It doesn't leave.

* * *

When they arrive, the air is chillier, the winds hinting at the first Faerghus frost that must not be too far off. Ingrid steps out of the carriage, wind blowing strands of hair across her face as she offers a hand to Dorothea. 

She’s not sure if she’s imagining Dorothea’s hesitation, or if she’s only catching her balance before taking Ingrid’s hand and smiling gratefully down at her as she, too, exits the carriage. 

Ingrid crosses to the rear, pulling down first Dorothea’s bag, then her own. “We carry our own bags at House Galatea,” she tells Dorothea, before slinging one bag over each shoulder. 

“I can carry my own bag,” Dorothea says. 

“No, it’s okay. I got it.” Ingrid shifts the bags, securing them over her back. “Let’s head inside.”

Dorothea rolls her eyes, not unkindly, and follows Ingrid through the front door of the manor. 

“Ingy!” Ingrid hears them before she sees them. Her brothers run up, each a mirror image of the other with blonde curls and brown eyes, almost making her lose her footing as they wrap their arms around her waist. She ruffles them both on the head indulgently as they pepper her with stories, each speaking over the other. She glances Hero further down the hallway, watching the scene with a smile in her eyes. 

“John, Antonio, this is Dorothea.” She nods her head towards Dorothea, who’s standing with her arms clasped in front of her. 

“Oh, hi.” Dorothea says, a bit startled when the twins give her hugs, too. She makes bewildered eye contact with Ingrid, and Ingrid grins. 

“You know, you two,” Ingrid says, maintaining eye contact with Dorothea. “If you ask Dorothea very, very nicely I’m sure she’ll sing for you.”

Dorothea wrinkles her nose at Ingrid over the boys’ shoulders, eyes twinkling as they cheer. 

Ingrid can’t help but laugh when she says, only to Dorothea, “I’ll come find you after talking to my father?”

Dorothea nods, and Ingrid passes their bags off to her brothers. “Okay, John, Antonio, take these to my room, all right? Then can you give Dorothea a tour?”

Her brothers are already pulling Dorothea away, and Dorothea looks over her shoulder, smiling with a bemused look in her eye until she disappears around the corner, out of sight.

Their spot is immediately taken by Hero, who clasps Ingrid’s hands in hers and leans in to kiss her on her cheek. Ingrid beams.

Hero glances back in Dorothea’s direction, raising one eyebrow in silent question at Ingrid, giving her hands a squeeze. 

“Don’t even start.” Ingrid shakes her head, and she can tell by the look Hero is giving her that she’s blushing. 

Hero smiles, pulling her hands out of Ingrid’s to sign, “Don’t worry, I won’t say anything to Father.” 

Ingrid smiles gratefully, taking Hero’s extended arm and walking down the halls with her towards their father’s office. Ingrid can hear the sound of more guests and servants than usual walking through the tile corridors, and, she supposes, it may be a tight fit for these two days. 

When they enter Count Galatea’s office, Ingrid steps forward, giving him a small bow before he wraps her in a hug and kisses the top of her head. 

“Ingrid!” her father booms. 

“Hello, Father.”

“My dear, it’s splendid to see you.” He steps back, and Hero rejoins Ingrid’s side. 

“You, too, Father. I’m excited to be back in Galatea for the wedding.”

Hero smiles. 

“Yes, yes, I’m excited as well.” He nods enthusiastically. “Now, how goes your education at the Academy? You’re looking rather strong.”

“It’s going well.” Ingrid lifts her chin, straightening her shoulders. “I’m pulling good marks and getting a lot of good experience in battle and in class.”

“Good to hear, good to hear. How are the boys?”

Ingrid shrugs. “Oh, you know. Sylvain and Felix are Sylvain and Felix. His Highness is exemplary as class leader.”

“Very nice.” Count Galatea nods, then shifts, taking a deep breath. He looks straight at Ingrid, and Ingrid senses Hero stiffening out of the corner of her eye. “I must say, Ingrid, I’m happy you’re here for more reasons than the wedding. I’ve invited several eligible men of noble backgrounds for the celebration. I’d like for you to spend some time with them.”

Hero sighs. 

“Get to know at least a few of them, see if there’s a connection there. They’re from all across the Kingdom, and some from the Alliance, too.”

Ingrid glances at Hero, who gives her an embarrassed look as she subtly signs, “Sorry.”

Ingrid looks back at her father. “Um, okay. I suppose I can try.”

“Wonderful. Thank you.” He claps a hand on Ingrid’s shoulder. “Hero was able to get into House Rowe, but I’m sure you can aim even higher, with that Crest of yours.”

It’s almost funny, Ingrid thinks, the way she and Hero wince at the same time. Except for that it isn’t funny at all.

“I hear that you brought a commoner girl from the Academy, yes?” Her father continues, seemingly unaware of his daughters’ discomfort.

“I did. Dorothea Arnault, from the Empire.”

Her father clicks his tongue. “I’d heard about her back in her opera days. Always chasing after noblemen, yes?” He laughs jovially. “Don’t let her steal them out from under you.”

It’s only Hero’s hand on Ingrid’s arm that keeps her from losing her temper, and Hero laughs uncomfortably while Ingrid just stares, trying to keep her breathing under control.

“Don’t worry, Father. I won’t,” she says through clenched teeth. 

“Good.” He smiles, then turns to Hero. “Now, Hero, don’t you have something to show your sister?”

Hero nods, turning to Ingrid. “Yes, yes, of course. Come on, Ingrid.” She grabs Ingrid’s arm, and Ingrid allows herself to be pulled out of her father’s office, turning to give him one more quick bow before the door closes behind her. 

Hero slows her pace in the hallway, and turns, walking sideways as she signs, “Sorry about all that. Ever since my engagement to Claudio he’s just been on and on.” She waves her hands, rolling her eyes. 

“Oh, I know,” Ingrid huffs. “I’ve gotten the letters.”

Hero laughs. “Oh, I’m sure you have.” 

Ingrid holds the back door of the manor open for her sister as Hero looks at her out of the corner of her eye, slyly smiling, “So, that Dorothea girl’s cute, huh?”

Ingrid smiles sheepishly as she falls back into step with her, bringing her hands up to cover her cheeks. “Oh, I guess.” 

Hero rolls her eyes genially. “Trust me. I saw the way you looked at her when you guys came in.”

Ingrid covers her eyes with her hands before dropping them back to her sides. “It’s complicated.”

Hero shrugs. “Okay,” she signs, smiling. “Just don’t worry about me telling Father. My lips are sealed.”

“Thanks, Hero.”

“Ah, we’re here.” Hero stops, and Ingrid stops beside her in front of the stables. 

“O-kay,” Ingrid says. “Is the surprise that I’m going to plow some fields?”

Hero laughs. “No, no. Call out to the stablehand for me, will you?”

Ingrid calls out, and the stablehand whistles in answer. “Be right out, Lady Ingrid!”

They sit in silence for a moment, and Ingrid tries not to wonder at the scuffling she can hear from within the dark recesses of the stable. 

Hero turns to her, that same sly smile still on her face. “So, Father wanted to do something nice for you.”

“Okay?”

Hero rolls her eyes, clicking her tongue. “Also, House Rowe gave us some gold to help with the wedding, so that’s helped a lot, too.”

“All right?” 

Hero looks as though she’s going to continue, but she pauses. “Oh, there he is.”

Ingrid turns to see the stablehand emerging, and behind him, a gray and white dappled pegasus, led on the reins. 

“Um,” Ingrid says.

Hero grins at her. 

Ingrid blinks rapidly, unsure if she’s assuming, and not quite knowing if she wants to be or not. “Just- Hold on.”

Hero’s smile widens. 

“We got a pegasus?”

Hero nods, squealing and wrapping her arms around Ingrid’s neck briefly before pulling away. 

Ingrid is surprised to feel tears gathering in the corners of her eyes as she turns to Hero. “Flames, Hero.”

“He’s all yours,” Hero signs. 

Ingrid puts her hands to her mouth, a tear leaking down her cheek. “No.”

“Yes. You can bring him back to school and everything.”

Ingrid wipes her eyes. 

“Can I give you a hug?” Hero asks, and Ingrid nods. 

“Thank you, Hero, Flames,” she says as she wraps her arms around her. “Goddess, thank you. I’ll make sure to tell Father, too.”

Hero gives her a kiss on the cheek before pulling away, smiling and nodding towards the pegasus.

Ingrid takes a step forward, reaching a hand out to brush against the pegasus’s neck, trailing her fingers through its mane. It nudges against her hand, and Ingrid’s heart melts. 

Hero moves so she’s standing at Ingrid’s side, signing, “So, what are you going to name him? He’s only a yearling, but he’s tamed.”

“Oh, um.” Ingrid thinks for a moment. “I don’t know?”

Hero shrugs. “Well, you have time. Do you want to saddle up?”

Ingrid finally tears her gaze away from the pegasus,  _ her  _ pegasus, and looks at Hero. “Oh, I don’t know. I feel like I should really go find Dorothea-”

Hero cuts her off with a wave of her hands. “I’ll go find her. I’ll get John to interpret for me and send her here.”

“Oh, really? Are you sure?” 

Hero nods. 

“Thank you,” Ingrid sighs. 

Hero leaves her, and Ingrid steps into the stable to retrieve her saddle. 

* * *

It’s much colder here, soaring through the clouds, Ingrid thinks. She feels at peace, though, her cheeks red with chill and her breath fogging up in front of her as she swoops and soars, directionless but not minding it at all. She’s already forming bonds of trust with her pegasus, and they seem to move fluidly together, one and the same. 

It's only when she hears her name, almost lost in the wind, and looks down to see a vaguely Dorothea-shaped speck on the ground, that she remembers Hero was going to send for her friend. 

Ingrid slowly spirals to the ground, lifting one hand in greeting. Dorothea smiles back as she lands, glancing warily at the pegasus.

“Hero said you’d be out here,” Dorothea says, then nods to the pegasus. “He’s beautiful. Is he your family’s?”

Ingrid shakes her head. “He’s mine,” she says breathlessly, then purses her lips. “My father, well, he.” She trails off, shrugging. 

“Oh, Ingrid, that’s wonderful,” Dorothea clasps her hands in front of her. 

“It’s just,” Ingrid scratches the back of her neck with one hand. She doesn’t know quite how to say that she’s worried that this is what she thinks it is - a bribe. It’s not that her father would ever force her to marry someone, or, at least, she doesn’t think he would. But she can’t get rid of the itch in the back of her mind that tells her that this gift comes with invisible strings. “I don’t know. Maybe I’m just worrying about how much money he must have cost?”

Dorothea blinks. “Oh, Ingrid, that’s definitely understandable. We all worry about money,” she says conspiratorially. “But, if I were you, I wouldn’t look a gift horse in the mouth.”

Ingrid smiles sadly. “Yes. I suppose you’re right.” She purses her lips, and then looks up at Dorothea, perking up. “Want to go for a ride? Maybe?” She winces at how her voice cracks on ‘maybe.’

Dorothea sucks in a breath. “Oh, I don’t know. Last time was extremely terrifying.” She shudders. “Maybe I can just watch you instead?”

“Oh, okay.” Ingrid tries not to let any disappointment show in her voice. “No, that’s all right. I feel bad leaving you alone for longer.”

“Ingrid, it’s no big deal, really.”

“Honestly, Dorothea, trust me when I say you do not want to be stuck in the manor with my family, a large number of Kingdom nobles, and no one else,” Ingrid laughs somewhat uncomfortably. “Come on, you can join me while I untack and then we can go to the practice dinner.”

Dorothea shrugs, nodding, and follows Ingrid into the stable. She’s nervous, Ingrid realizes, but she doesn’t really know if she should point it out to Dorothea. 

Instead, she leads her pegasus into the open stall, then retreats to the back with a bucket to get him water from the basin.

“So what’s his name?” Dorothea calls from where she’s safely waiting near the entrance.

Ingrid hums. “Not sure yet,” she confesses, moving to take off his bridle when she sets down the bucket of water. “Any ideas?”

Dorothea thinks for a moment. “You could do something sort of majestic. Like Octavius. Or maybe something a little more sophisticated, maybe Romeo? There’s a lot of good names out there.”

“Yeah, I like those,” Ingrid says, brushing his flank in circular motions. “But I was kind of thinking of something like Tim. Or Ron?”

Ingrid hears Dorothea start to laugh, then swallow it back. Her cheeks heat up.

“I think Timothy suits him,” Dorothea says before the silence can grow too uncomfortable. “And Tim for short is nice.”

“You really think so?” Ingrid asks. “Tim it is, I guess. Goddess, I can’t wait to bring him back to the Monastery.”

“I’m excited for you.”

Ingrid smiles. “I’m excited, too.”

* * *

It’s getting late when Ingrid exits the washroom, pulling her dampened hair into a loose braid. “Sorry we have to share,” she says sheepishly, eyeing Dorothea. She’s sitting at the edge of Ingrid’s bed, already in her nightclothes and brushing her hair before sleep. “We’re just a bit overcrowded at the moment.”

Dorothea snorts. “What, is the whole territory attending?”

Ingrid huffs out a laugh of her own. “No, House Rowe is just rich and has a lot of guests.” She moves to sit at the foot of her bed. “But, you know, Faerghan tradition says bride’s territory and all.” 

“Strange customs,” Dorothea reaches over, setting her hairbrush on Ingrid’s nightstand. She pulls her knees to her chest and rests her chin on top of them. “The Empire doesn’t dictate such things when it comes to weddings.”

Ingrid means to reply, she really does, but she can’t seem to stop focusing on the sight of Dorothea’s hairbrush, sitting on the nightstand she’s had since she was a child. Feelings Ingrid doesn’t have the time to decipher are bubbling inside of her, simmering just below the surface, and part of her wants to kiss Dorothea. The other part wants to cry. 

She’s broken out of her thoughts by Dorothea as she says, “Honestly, I’m surprised your father is even letting us share a room, with all things considered.”

Ingrid jerks her gaze away, face heating as she stares at her lap. “Um, well, he doesn’t know we’re together.” She cringes. “Or, I mean, you know.”

“I know what you mean.”

Ingrid sighs heavily, then pushes herself to her feet, kneeling in front of her bed to pull out extra sheets and pillows. 

“What’s all that for?” Dorothea questions. 

Ingrid glances at her. “You know. They’re for me. To sleep down here.” She trails off, reaching further below her bed. “Honestly, I’m surprised this stuff is still here. It was usually used by Sylvain and Felix back in the day.” She leans back, staring at the pile of bedding in front of her. 

“Don’t be silly, Ingrid.” Ingrid can hear the smile in Dorothea’s voice. “You know we can share, right?”

Ingrid frets her lower lip between her teeth. “No, it’s all right,” she protests. “I’m fine on the floor, really.” Normally, she wouldn’t think of it, but ever since that night-

“We fit well enough last time,” Dorothea says, patting the mattress next to her. “And this bed is much larger. I really don’t want you to be all stiff for your own sister’s wedding tomorrow.”

Ingrid hesitates. 

“Look, if it’s that big of a deal, let me sleep on the floor.” Dorothea stands. 

“I couldn’t do that,” Ingrid says, standing as well. “You’re a guest.”

“You’re a noble.”

Ingrid puts her hands on her hips, rolling her eyes.

To her surprise, Dorothea lets out a small bout of laughter. 

“What?”

“I’m beginning to think I’ve had too much of an effect on you, Ingy.”

“Yeah, no.” Ingrid shakes her head. “Don’t call me the same nickname my siblings call me. That’s just… weird. And what do you mean by too much of an effect?”

“I’ve just never seen you stand like that. You look like me when I’m pissed off. It’s cute.”

Ingrid freezes. 

Dorothea doesn’t seem to notice as she climbs back onto the mattress, laying down and reaching out her hand. “Come on now, Ingrid. I promise it’s all right.”

Ingrid sighs. “Fine.” 

“You know,” Dorothea teases as Ingrid climbs in next to her, pulling the sheets up to her chin. “There're many people who would kill for a chance to sleep in the same bed as me.”

“Ha ha.” Ingrid says, deadpan. 

They lay in silence, Ingrid staring at her ceiling. She thought she’d feel different, coming back to House Galatea this weekend. That she’d feel at home. This is her house, after all, it’s where she grew up, it’s where her family is. 

But she can’t help the disjointedness she feels, deep in her chest, that this isn’t the place of refuge it used to be. Even laying here, with Dorothea next to her, this bed doesn’t feel like her own. It’s the one she’d used for all her life, yes, but the flat and uncomfortable mattresses of the Monastery are all she can dream about. 

She’s beginning to think that out of everyone she’s spoken to today, Dorothea is the only one who’s actually listened. 

She’s not sure what to make of that

“You know,” Dorothea says. “I always kind of expected your room to have more decorations.”

Ingrid shrugs, and then, remembering Dorothea can’t see her, “I don’t know. I guess it’s just never appealed to me. Most of the stuff I really care about is at the Academy, anyway.”

“Me, too,” Dorothea says, and they fall quiet again. 

Ingrid wills herself to relax. It’s getting late, she knows this, but she can also feel Dorothea’s heat next to her, much too close, and her muscles are tense from the not-quite-there contact. So much has happened since that last time, and Ingrid can’t help but wonder if they’re better or worse off, now that walls have been both destroyed and built between them. 

* * *

**Two Moons Ago**

* * *

Ingrid lays with her head in Dorothea’s lap, the Battle of Eagle and Lion on the horizon, trying not to nod off as they watch the stars in silence together. Dorothea’s hands are in her hair, and it all just feels so nice, so  _ good _ , that Ingrid thinks she could stay here forever, in this moment, in this feeling. 

“Hey,” Dorothea says softly, gently shaking Ingrid’s shoulder. “You’re falling asleep.”

“No ‘m not,” Ingrid mumbles, rubbing her eyes with the heels of her hands. 

Dorothea laughs. “Come on, darling Ingrid, let’s get you to bed.”

Ingrid groans in protest as Dorothea pats her arm to get her up. “Don’t wanna sleep with Mercedes. Won’t be able to sleep.”

“I mean with me, silly. Come on, we can share.” 

Ingrid thinks she should protest this. She should protest this, right?

“Okay,” she says instead.

“Okay?” Dorothea double checks. 

Ingrid sighs. “Yeah. Okay.” But she shuts her eyes again, reveling in the warmth of Dorothea all around her. 

“Come on, sleepy Ingrid,” Dorothea chides. “We need to walk back.”

Ingrid groans again. “You can just carry me.”

Dorothea laughs. “I’m not strong like you, darling.”

Ingrid’s much too tired for this. “So you think I’m strong?” she mutters. 

“Yes, I do,” Dorothea says. “And I’ll even tell you so if you get up.”

Ever so cruelly, Dorothea pushes herself to her feet, removing the blanket from on top of Ingrid. “Now come on, let’s start off.”

Ingrid groans for a third time before pulling herself to her feet, shivering slightly. 

“Aw, there you go. Strong Ingrid,” Dorothea winks. 

When they arrive at the Black Eagles camp, Linhardt is still awake. Ingrid looks at him, and he rolls his eyes, turning back to the book in his hands pointedly. 

Dorothea ignores him, gesturing towards her bedroll. She crawls in. “Come on, strong Ingrid,” she says, scooting over and patting the ground next to her. 

Ingrid feels ready to collapse from exhaustion, but she manages to slide into the bedroll next to Dorothea. It’s not the most comfortable fit, neither she nor Dorothea are particularly small, but it’s far preferable to being kicked awake by Mercedes all night.

Ingrid sighs contentedly as she starts to warm up, and without giving it a second thought, she curls into Dorothea’s side. Ingrid wraps both her arms around one of Dorothea’s, resting her head against her shoulder. 

Dorothea laughs at the gesture, leaning over to press a ghost of a kiss to Ingrid’s forehead. “Let’s sleep now,” she suggests, and Ingrid hums in response, too tired to speak.

And so, Ingrid finally lets herself rest, with Dorothea’s hair tickling her cheek and the tingling remnants of a kiss brushed against her face.

* * *

**Now**

* * *

Ingrid lays flat on her back. She can hear Dorothea’s breathing, and knows she’s not asleep yet. She seems to be holding her breath, words left unsaid filling the space between them. 

Ingrid wonders if Dorothea’s going to bring up  _ that  _ night. She doesn’t think she’ll burst into tears at it this time. She’s just worried about scaring Dorothea away, of coming on too strong, of saying the wrong thing and cutting the tenuous string they have pulled taut between them. 

She decides to take a chance. Ingrid turns her head. Dorothea turns back. She offers a smile and a raise of an eyebrow, and Ingrid flushes, turning back to the ceiling. 

“We should sleep,” Ingrid says, swallowing. “It’ll be a big day tomorrow.” 

Dorothea doesn’t say anything, but she sighs, shifting. 

And then Ingrid feels the brush of a hand against her pinky finger, tentatively trailing across the length of it like a question. 

Keeping her gaze trained above her, Ingrid turns her hand over, allowing Dorothea to slip her hand inside.

It feels strangely intimate, regardless of how many times they’ve held hands in the past. It feels like a bridge across a chasm, something to lead people to safety. 

It feels like coming home.

The first thing that fades its way into Ingrid’s consciousness is warmth, and something tickling against her face. She reaches up, dimly itching her nose. 

She lingers for a moment, feeling utterly at ease in the world, with birds chirping outside the window and early morning sunlight shining through the crack in the curtains. 

Slowly, she floats into full consciousness, eyes fluttering open. 

She’s wrapped around Dorothea, her arms around her waist, Dorothea’s head tucked into the junction between Ingrid’s shoulder and neck. Dorothea’s mouth is open, snoring softly, her hair tickling Ingrid’s face as she lightly drools on her shoulder. 

Ingrid jerks away, none too gently pulling her arm out from under Dorothea as she moves into a sitting position and flattens her hair, face flushed. 

Dorothea starts to stir, and she stretches, eyes half-open. “What’s wrong?” she murmurs, still half-asleep.

“Yep, everything’s great,” Ingrid says, voice cracking. “Everything’s fine!”

Dorothea pauses. “Okay.”

Ingrid reaches behind her to pick her hair out of her braid while Dorothea yawns, stretching. She sits up, cracking her neck. 

“That sounds like it hurt,” Ingrid laughs. 

“Felt good, actually.” Dorothea rubs her eyes. “So, what’s our plans for the day?”

“Um, for me? I’m mostly helping with last minute preparations. I might have to leave you for a bit for, you know, familial duties.”

“Understandable,” Dorothea quips. “Is there anything I can help with?”

“Not sure.” Ingrid scratches her nose. “I need to go find my father. I can ask him?”

Dorothea shrugs. “Fine by me.”

* * *

After Ingrid’s dressed, her hair pulled into a ponytail at the nape of her neck, she sets off to find her father. There’s servants roaming the halls, transporting furniture, walking with stacks of papers in their hands. Some Ingrid recognize, but even more she doesn’t, most likely from House Rowe. It’s much more hectic than she’s ever seen her home and she doesn’t quite know how to feel about it.

She finds her father in his office, accompanied by a young nobleman Ingrid doesn’t recognize. They both stand when she enters, and Ingrid offers a small bow.

“Father,” she says, eyeing the other man. “I mean to go find Hero, but Dorothea was wondering if there’s anything she could assist with?”

Her father merely blinks, then snaps his fingers. “Ah, yes, Dorothea. “ He clears his throat, sharing a look with the other man. “Ingrid, dear, I’d like you to meet Lord Don Pedro of House Gaspard. Lord Don Pedro, Ingrid.”

Ingrid nods at Don Pedro, then turns back to her father. “Do you need anything else from me, or shall I go find Hero?”

Her father and Don Pedro share another look, and Ingrid resists the urge to roll her eyes. 

“You know, Ingrid, I don’t think Hero or I need much help right now. Why don’t you stay here and get to know Lord Don Pedro a bit? I’ll leave you two here, and come back when we need you.”

Ingrid purses her lips. “Father, may I speak to you for a minute?” She glances at Don Pedro. “In private?”

Without waiting for an answer, she steps towards the window, pulling her father along with her. 

“Father, can’t this wait until after tonight? I-.”

“Lord Don Pedro’s a good friend of Hero’s Claudio,” her father cuts her off. “He was interested in Hero, too, but, well, since that didn’t work out, I thought he might want to speak with you.”

Ingrid takes a deep breath, closing her eyes. She really, truly does not have time for this. “Father. I need to go help Hero get dressed and prepared for the wedding.”

“Oh, don’t worry about all that.” Her father waves a hand. “I’ll explain it to her. She’ll understand.”

“It’s her  _ wedding _ ,” Ingrid protests, then drops her hands, laughing weakly. “But, you know what? Fine. I also need to go find Dorothea and find her something to do.”

“No, no. I can go find Dorothea. You just talk to Don Pedro.”

Quite frankly, Ingrid wouldn’t take a bet about her father even remembering what Dorothea looks like, but she merely frowns. She’s tired. She’s so very tired, and the thought of Dorothea, waiting for her back in her room, wondering where she’s gone, and of Hero, who she loves, who she’s supposed to be helping, gives her one last push off the ledge. 

Trying to keep her voice even, she says, “Father. No. I am not doing this right now. I’m going to go find Dorothea, and then I’m going to go help Hero. I can speak to this man at the wedding, but I’m leaving.”

Without waiting for his response, she turns, bowing to Don Pedro briefly before crossing the room towards the doors. “Lord Don Pedro, it was an honor meeting you; unfortunately, I have other matters to attend to. If you please, you can save me a dance later.” 

Don Pedro bows, a bewildered look on his face that Ingrid barely catches as she pushes through the door. 

She stumbles back to her room, one hand coming up to wipe at the corners of her eyes. 

“Ingrid?” 

Fuck. She’d forgotten about Dorothea. She doesn’t respond, walking directly to the washroom as she tries to take deep breaths. 

Dorothea, of course, damn her, follows her. “Ingrid, hold on. What’s wrong? What happened?”

Ingrid wets a cloth, scrubbing her face. “Nothing,” she says, trying to breathe. “It’s just, my idiot father, and idiot suitors, and-” She drops the rag, and curses, leaning against the wall. “I just don’t know.”

“Hey, now.” Dorothea bends down, picking up the rag and setting it on the edge of the washbasin. “Come here. Talk to me.”

Ingrid pinches the bridge of her nose, shaking her head and not responding. She can feel her breath quickening, and she hates it, hates this, hates that Dorothea is seeing her like this. 

“Can I give you a hug?” Dorothea asks softly. “Would that help?”

Ingrid pauses, then nods, not opening her eyes as Dorothea steps closer, gathering her into her arms.

Ingrid leans her forehead on Dorothea’s shoulder, tears leaking out of her eyes and voice tight and wet as she says, “I just. I hate being home. This isn’t even home anymore and I’m not the person my father wants me to be and I just feel so, so ashamed. And I just want to graduate already so I can become a knight and be done with this place and, just, Goddess.” She drops her shoulders, finally letting her tears fall. 

Dorothea simply comforts, one hand stroking Ingrid’s hair and the other lightly scratching her back. She gently shushes Ingrid, and Ingrid stands there, stone-still, absolutely ruining Dorothea’s tunic with snot and saltwater tears. 

Over time, Ingrid’s breath slows, and she eventually pulls back, using her fingertips to brush her last few tears away. “Sorry,” she says, laughing weakly. 

“It’s okay,” Dorothea says, reaching out to rub Ingrid’s arm. “Are you feeling a bit better?”

Ingrid nods. “Sorry. It’s just, Father shit. You know.”

Dorothea snorts. “Do I ever. Did you know my own father came to one of my shows once?”

Ingrid blinks. “Really?” She crosses back into the washroom, trying to still her shaking hands as she picks back up the washcloth, dipping it back into the basin. 

“Oh, trust me, Ingrid, it gets worse,” Dorothea sighs dramatically, collapsing back onto the bed. “He didn’t even recognize me, and even worse, attempted to solicit me.” She scoffs. “Dear old Dad.”

Ingrid turns, looking over her shoulder. “What the fuck?”

“It’s all right,” Dorothea smiles sadly. “Trust me, it wasn’t even the worst of my experiences. I just wanted you to know that, you know, you’re not alone.” 

“Thanks,” Ingrid sighs, moving to her mirror to wipe at her face again.

“And just know,” Dorothea continues, slowly, “Whenever you’re ready to talk. I’m here.” 

Ingrid pauses. Wipes her chin with the cloth. Sets it down. Braces herself against the sink. “Okay.” 

“Okay!” Moment forgotten, Dorothea stands again, clapping her hands together. “Now, how can I help you get ready for tonight?”

“Um,” Ingrid turns to her sheepishly. “My father didn’t really say. And I kind of have to go help Hero. Do you want to just get ready and I’ll come get you when I can?”

“Sure, I can do that,” Dorothea smiles, and Ingrid feels the tension leave her shoulders. “Don’t even worry about me, Ingrid. I’ll be just fine here.”

“Thank you,” Ingrid says. “Seriously, thank you.”

“Anything for you, Ingrid.”

* * *

“Ingrid! You’re here,” Hero signs through the mirror of her vanity. Ingrid walks across the room, leaning over the top of the chair and kissing her on the head. 

“Excited?” she asks.

Hero beams, nodding. “Thanks for coming to help.”

“Of course. Can’t say I’ll be able to offer much input on makeup, but I wouldn’t miss it for the world.” 

She’d already decided she won’t tell Hero about what their father had tried to pull - even though Hero would be empathetic towards her plight, it was her big day. Ingrid wouldn’t want to take away from that. 

“That reminds me,” Hero pulls Ingrid out of her thoughts, tapping on her shoulder. “Open the wardrobe. I got something for you.”

Ingrid gives her a look. “Hero, you didn’t have to get me a dress. I was just planning on wearing my breeches and a nice tunic.”

Hero rolls her eyes. “My wedding, my rules. Open the wardrobe.” 

Ingrid sticks her tongue out and moves over to the wardrobe, throwing open the doors. 

It’s not a dress. 

It’s a suit. 

It’s sky blue, with trim breeches and a snugly fit coat, buttoned up the front with a silver cravat already fastened with a tie pin. 

Ingrid stares at the suit, then turns to Hero. She turns back to the suit. “For me?” 

Hero doesn’t need to answer. Ingrid turns back to her. “Hero.”

Hero smiles. “Mercedes wrote to me. She said this might be more your style than the dress.”

Ingrid tilts her head. “I…” she trails off. 

“It’s okay, Ingy,” Hero signs. “You don’t have to say anything. Just come here.”

Hero stands, wrapping her arms around Ingrid’s shoulders. Ingrid embraces her back, breathing deeply into her sister’s hair.

“Now come on,” Hero signs, then shakes Ingrid gently by the shoulders. “Help me get this dress on.”

* * *

Ingrid never does find Dorothea before the ceremony; everything moves so quickly with Hero, setting up, and going over her own role in the procession. Sooner than expected, she’s being ushered into their largest parlor with Don Pedro and a few others. She stands to the side of the altar, the bishop between her and Don Pedro, who gives her a wan smile. 

She really hopes he’s not getting any ideas.

She sweeps her gaze across the crowd as they start to fill in, looking for Dorothea. She’s relieved when she catches her eye, and Dorothea waves, grinning. Ingrid offers a small wave back as Dorothea takes her seat near the back. 

Ingrid doesn’t recognize most of the others floating in, and she figures they’re from House Rowe, until she sees her brothers running up, giving hugs to people she thought were strangers, and she wonders just how much she’s missed in her months at the Academy. Briefly, she flirts with the thought that maybe she should’ve invited Sylvain after all. He was always so personable, knew so many others during their childhood, that surely he would be able to handle any conversations she’d be forced to be a part of. 

When everyone’s been seated and her brothers calmed with small, quiet toys, the Bishop starts to speak, and Ingrid knows she should be listening to what she’s saying, but she can’t help but watch Dorothea, dressed in pink and gold. 

It's only when the Faerghus wedding march starts playing that Dorothea looks back. She gives a smile and a wink, and Ingrid startles away, turning back to face the door with pink cheeks. 

When Hero and Claudio enter, all Ingrid can focus on is how beautiful her sister looks, how happy. 

Vows are exchanged, and when Hero and Claudio kiss, Ingrid cries. 

* * *

Ingrid loses sight of Dorothea after the ceremony ends, with people being funneled from the parlor to the larger reception hall, where buffet tables piled high with Faerghan specialties line the walls, an area sectioned off for dancing. 

The crowd tosses petals as Hero and Claudio perform their first dance, a traditional Faerghan waltz, and soon Ingrid has to accept the invitation to dance from Don Pedro. He sweeps her onto the floor, and when Ingrid catches her father’s eye over his shoulder, she hates how happy he looks for her.

She’s not ready to break his heart.

But she tries not to focus on this - it is a party, after all, and when the song ends, she bows to Don Pedro and excuses herself, standing near the edge of the crowd, nibbling on a lemon pastry. 

The next time she emerges onto the dance floor, it’s with Hero, who she twirls around with laughter. She’s glad that Hero’s happy, truly. She had dealt with it hardest when their mother left, but, Ingrid thinks, if only their mother could see her now, flowers in her hair, a cream lace gown, smiling over Ingrid’s shoulder at Claudio as if he’s the only person in the world. 

When the song ends, Ingrid groans. She knows it has to come eventually. She just wishes it had been later. That she could’ve found Dorothea in the crowds first, or eaten more, or anything, really. But when her father pulls her aside, she goes willingly, snagging a frosted muffin off one of the tables as she goes. 

“Ingrid,” her father starts, hands tucked behind his back. “A few wedding guests have expressed their interest in your hand.”

“Okay,” she says around a mouthful of muffin, ignoring the distasteful look her father gives her. 

“I’d like for you to dance with a few of them. We’ve formed a sort of order. Just mingle, talk, see which ones you like.”

Ingrid stuffs the rest of the muffin in her mouth, choking it down. Her father offers her a glass of champagne, and she sips, but before she can focus on any more than a sip, a nobleman who introduces himself as Lord Isaac von Edmund asks her to dance, and her father takes the glass from her outstretched hand. 

She tries to smile at him, she really does, but as he sweeps her onto the floor, droning about what an honor it is to be in House Galatea, she finally spots Dorothea, dancing with Don Pedro, who has a grin on his face as Dorothea throws her head back and laughs. 

Ingrid tears her gaze away as Isaac asks, “So, what do you think?” 

“Hm?” She blinks. “Or, I mean, yes, I suppose.” 

“Yes, you think that the Alliance should shut down all Fodlan’s Throat operations and destroy the entire base?” Isaac’s eyes widen. 

“What? No,” Ingrid says quickly, then sighs. “I apologize, Lord Isaac. I must admit my attention is elsewhere at the moment.” 

Isaac huffs. “Right, well.” 

They finish the dance in an uncomfortable silence, and Ingrid tries to look anywhere but Isaac, and also anywhere besides Dorothea, and thus spends most of the song staring at the ceiling. 

When the song finally, finally ends, Ingrid bows. She steps back to the side of the room, taking another offered glass of champagne and downs it. She’s lost track of Dorothea again, but she doesn’t mind.  _ Dorothea can do what she wants _ , she thinks, surly, as she leans against one of the tables and crosses her arms. 

She knows, objectively, that she can’t be mad at Dorothea for this - they’re not “together” on this trip, and it’s not like Ingrid thought they’d spend the entire party side by side, but she can’t help but feel a selfish, shameful storm billowing up inside of her that Dorothea’s the one having fun and being sociable, when she doesn’t even know anybody but Ingrid at the party, while Ingrid stuffs pastries in her mouth and tries not to think about anything. Ingrid hates herself for it.

Soon enough, another nobleman asks her for a dance, and another, and another, and each one goes worse than the one before it, and Ingrid starts to wonder why she thought this was going to be a good weekend, anyway. In between dances, she eats, she drinks, she tries not to look for Dorothea. She sees Dorothea, but she looks away before Dorothea can look back. 

She’s piling an ungodly amount of cream-filled chocolate balls onto a small plate when her father approaches her again. 

“Ingrid,” he says, and then, “Look at me, please,” when she ignores him. 

Ingrid turns, setting the plate down on the table before her none too gently. “Yes, Father?” Her head hurts. She does not want to deal with this right now.

“I’ve spoken with your suitors. A few have expressed interest-”

“Flames, Father,” Ingrid puts a hand to her forehead. “Can’t this wait until tomorrow? It’s Hero’s wedding, for Goddess’s sake.”

“You see, Ingrid, if you had let me speak,” her father continues, heedless. “Everyone is leaving tomorrow, and if we could only just make a choice-”

“What?” Ingrid snaps. “Do you want me engaged tonight, or something?” She means it to be an ironic inquiry, but her father’s silence is answer enough. 

“Unbelievable…” she trails off. “Father, no.” She turns back to her plate, picking it up and trying to push past him. “I’m just, I’m not doing this right now.” But then she spots Isaac and one other noble she’d danced with, staring at their conversation, and turns back. 

“Ingrid, listen, I can explain.”

She hates that there’s tears in her eyes. She hates it. “Father.” And then she has to stop, her throat feeling thick as she tries to swallow. 

He sighs softly. “Oh, Ingrid.” 

And in a fraction of a second, her sadness morphs into anger at her father’s condescension, the lump in her throat fading. 

“Honestly, fuck it,” Ingrid says, and ignores the guilt trying to push through at how startled her father looks. “I’m done, Father.” She takes a deep breath before continuing. “I’m not marrying either of these men, or any of the others you  _ forced  _ me to dance with,” she shakes her head when he tries to cut in, “And, honestly, I’m not getting married any time soon, so don’t hold your damn breath.” 

“Ingrid, don’t say such things.” Her father’s eyes are sad, which is almost worse than if he’d gotten angry back, Ingrid thinks. “You’ll change your mind someday.”

Ingrid lets out a harsh laugh. “No, I really won’t. She pushes past him in the opposite direction she’d started in. “And, if you don’t back off with all this, all these proposals, all these goddess-damned noblemen, I’m not coming back after graduation.” 

He lets her go this time, and Ingrid resists the urge to look back. 

Ingrid collapses at the nearest empty table she can find, taking another glass of champagne from a passing tray. 

She sits, eating pastries, drinking champagne and trying not to cry. 

She shares a glance with Hero, dancing with Claudio, and Hero gives her a concerned look that Ingrid waves off, shaking her head. 

When she finishes her plate, she stays at the table, crossing her arms. John and Antonio approach her, each pulling on one arm. 

“Guys, no, I’m tired,” Ingrid says, and part of her wonders if she’ll cry again. 

“Ingy, Ingy,” they chant, and Ingrid’s throat starts closing up again. 

“John, Antonio, seriously, leave me alone.” She pulls her hands away, and they stomp off, blowing raspberries at her as they go. 

Yeah, she’s definitely going to cry again. 

Ingrid groans, putting her head in her hands and squeezing her eyes closed, willing herself to be anywhere but here. 

“Ingrid?”

It has to be a joke, Ingrid thinks, that this is the moment that she finds her. 

“Are you alright? One of your brothers honestly, I’m not sure which, told me that Hero said I should check on you.” 

Ingrid groans. 

“Ingrid, come on,” Dorothea says playfully, reaching out to tug on her arm. “Look at me.”

Ingrid looks up, and Dorothea’s smile turns to a frown. “What happened?”

“Can we talk?” Ingrid says. 

“Yeah, of course. Let me help you.” Dorothea pulls Ingrid to her feet. “Want to just go into the hall for a minute? Does that sound okay?”

Ingrid lets herself be led out of the room, and she takes a breath for what feels like the first time, out in the cold, quiet hallway. 

Dorothea watches as she gets her bearings, and when Ingrid finally looks at her again, Dorothea’s face is confused, expectant. 

Ingrid thinks she surprises even herself when the first thing she blurts out is, “Can I kiss you?”

Dorothea blinks, raising her eyebrows. She doesn’t answer for a moment.

Ingrid winces. 

“I don’t think that’s the best idea right now, Ingrid,” Dorothea says carefully. She steps forward, tentatively reaching out to rub Ingrid’s arm in a soothing gesture. “I think you’re a little drunk, and a little sad, and that we really need to talk about things first.”

Ingrid slumps. Dorothea’s right, and she knows it. But it doesn’t stop the twinge of hurt she feels. 

“It- I wish you’d have seeked me out earlier tonight,” Ingrid confesses. 

“Why?” Dorothea asks, genuine bewilderment in her voice. 

“I don’t know.” Ingrid looks down, picking at a loose thread on her sleeve. “I just thought… Never mind.”

“Well,  _ you  _ told me we didn’t have to pretend to be together while we’re here,” Dorothea says, not accusatory, just a fact. 

“Yeah. I know.”

“So why would it be an issue that I spend time with others, especially at a party of this size?”

Ingrid buries her head in her hands. She doesn’t know how to say it, how to explain it all away. She doesn’t know if she should, anymore. 

“I don’t know,” she mumbles into her hands, then let’s them drop. She laughs weakly. “I really don’t know, Dorothea. I’m just- I’m in love with you. And I feel like my heart is breaking.”

She watches as Dorothea let’s out a soft, “Oh,” lips rounding in surprise.

Once she’s started, Ingrid can’t make herself stop. “And I don’t know! I don’t get it. I know you like Lady Edelgard and there’s no goddamn reason- It’s just ever since that foolish proposal, I guess I just really thought that doing this would help and I’d be able to fucking get over you for once in my life,” she’s ranting now, hands in her hair, “But it just didn’t work like Mercedes and Sylvain said it would and I’m just-”

“Hold on,” Dorothea stops her. “Sylvain?”

Ingrid shuts her mouth, freezing. 

“Ingrid,” Dorothea says, slowly, carefully. “Does Sylvain know about this? About our arrangement?”

After a loaded pause, Ingrid nods mechanically. She opens her mouth to speak, but Dorothea raises a hand, cutting her off. 

They stand there, Ingrid’s mind racing through all her fuckups of the night, staring at Dorothea so hard she wonders if she’ll be able to read her mind.

Finally, Dorothea looks up. “Oh, Goddess. It was a real proposal, wasn’t it?”

Ingrid bites her lip. Slowly, she nods. 

She wonders if Dorothea’s going to kiss her. If Dorothea’s going to confess that she felt the same, or maybe let her down gently, or any other myriad of things. Nothing prepares her, though, for the hardened look in Dorothea’s eyes when she meets her gaze again. 

“You’ve been lying to me? Playing with my feelings? All this time?”

Ingrid winces. 

Dorothea huffs. “Unbelievable.” She turns, rubbing her temples with her fingertips. Ingrid leans back against the cold manor walls, silent tears falling down her face. 

“Who else knows about this?” Dorothea says, suddenly, and the lack of warmth in her voice, when Ingrid has become so accustomed to it, makes her flinch. “You already said Mercedes. Annette? Felix? Is the entirety of the Blue Lions class just collectively mocking me behind my back?”

“No-” Ingrid starts, but Dorothea stops her again. 

“You know what, Ingrid? I really liked you.” Dorothea laughs. “I really, truly, did. I thought you weren’t like all those other nobles and, Flames,” She jabs a finger in Ingrid’s direction. “I know that you said I’ve been breaking your heart, but if you had told me I was- It doesn’t matter. What matters is you’re breaking mine right about now.”

Without another word, Dorothea stalks past her, letting out a rush of warm air as she pushes her way back into the party. 

Ingrid slumps to the ground, letting the sobs that have been building up all day finally burst free. She’s ruining the suit Hero gave her, sitting here on the dirty ground with tears and spit running down the sleeves, but she can’t bring herself to care. All she can think about is how royally she’s screwed everything up. 

She doesn’t go back to the party, not even after her tears slow and her throat feels parched. Nobody comes looking for her, not Dorothea, not her brothers, not Hero, not her father. She sits on the floor of the hallway, cold and alone, as the party rises to its climax and then slowly starts to fade, people retreating to their rooms as the moon continues its slow journey across the sky. Still, nobody comes for her. 

Eventually, when the reception hall has long since quieted down and even the silent tears have morphed into a dry face and a pounding headache, Ingrid stands. She drags herself to her room. She thinks she might cry when she sees that Dorothea isn’t there, but all she feels is a confusing and strange mix of shame and relief. 

She collapses on her bed, and her last thought before she falls asleep is of Dorothea.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The usual: [twitter](https://twitter.com/bizzybee429) [tumblr (new url)](https://officialferdinand.tumblr.com)
> 
> In addition:  
> \- There is now a Dorogrid discord server! Check one of my social media sites above for the link. If it's expired, you can DM me for a new one.  
> \- Dorogrid week is May 24-May 30! Find more info [here](https://twitter.com/weekofdorogrid).


	9. Silence is the Perfectest Herault of Joy

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A competition, a tea time, and a mysterious letter

If there’s two things Dorothea hates, it’s liars and people who mock her behind her back. 

She doesn’t hate, Ingrid, though. 

Dorothea stares into her mirror, rubbing a finger over her lips to smooth the gloss there. The White Heron Cup starts in a half an hour, and she needs to be prepared. 

She should be thinking through her steps again, she knows this, but instead all she can think of is that night, and Ingrid letting it slip, and everything that happened afterward. 

She closes her eyes, pocketing her mirror. This better not fuck up her performance. 

It’s not that she’s not mad, hells, that’d been the first time she’d felt true anger in Goddess knows when. It’s just, looking back at it now, everything’s shiny, softened at the edges by means of time passed and the light buzz she’d had that night. 

But then, she thinks, no. She has a right to be angry. Ingrid  _ lied  _ to her, she lied, and Dorothea is so sick of nobles lying to her to get into her pants she has to chase back tears threatening to gather in the corners of her eyes. 

Fuck this. She has a performance to get to. She can worry about Ingrid later. 

* * *

She’s the last to enter the Entrance Hall; Annette and Ignatz are already huddled together near the back entrance, talking. When they see her, Ignatz smiles nervously, shoulders hunched and hands clasped in front of him, while Annette gapes at her, open-mouthed. Dorothea offers a warm smile to Ignatz, and then turns her back to the both of them. 

“Um, Dorothea?” Dorothea  _ definitely  _ does not want to talk to Annette today. Or probably ever again. “Can I talk to you?”

Dorothea shrugs. 

“I just wanted to see, is everything okay with you and Ingrid?” Annette’s voice is timid in a way it never is. “I heard, um,” she glances back at Ignatz, “You found out.” Taking a deep breath, she blurts, “And I just wanted to say, Ingrid’s really sorry and so am I and also none of us were ever making fun of you and-”

“Annette, stop.” Dorothea snaps, and Annette falls silent. “Just… stop.” 

Annette stops.

* * *

Reminiscion is a son of a bitch. 

Of course, Dorothea is a professional. She's never let anything get in the way of performing before, and she's not going to let something as silly as memories do it now.

It doesn’t mean they can’t consume her, though. 

As she stands at attention, waiting for the music to start, she can’t help but remember the last time she’d performed this particular dance. Now, she recognizes how silly it was, that she’d invited Ingrid to her room that day. She hadn’t needed to practice. She knew that. Ingrid knew that. Still though, Ingrid had looked so pretty, no, so handsome, there in the dim light, worrying her bottom lip between her teeth as she had focused on the steps. Dorothea had wanted to kiss her, then, had just wanted to do it. Get it over with. 

They spent so much time dancing around each other, Dorothea thinks, closing her eyes as she goes through the movements, trying to ignore the way she can feel the entire Monastery staring at her. Ingrid must’ve been thinking the same thing that night, Dorothea considers. Goddess. 

She steps back. She thinks of Ingrid’s waist, firm yet soft in her grip. She steps forward. She thinks of Ingrid’s braid, heavy as it swayed against the back of her hand.

It’s fucking annoying.

Finally, torturously, she dips nothing into empty air, closing her eyes against the invisible brush of skin against her nose. 

When she stands, Dorothea opens her eyes to the Black Eagles, applauding her from the sidelines. When her eyes drift, she sees first Mercedes, then Ingrid. Ingrid’s clapping, too, a sad smile on her face. Dorothea doesn’t know if she wants to smile back. 

She doesn’t. Instead, she retreats, and takes a seat as Annette takes the stage, shining and effervescent as always as she tries and fails not to constantly glance behind her at Dorothea. She stumbles once, twice, but pulls herself back to her feet every time. Honestly, Dorothea thinks, it’s a wonder she’s only stumbled a few times. She knows firsthand how clumsy Annette can be when the pressure’s on her to do well. 

After Annette, Ignatz takes the stage. Dorothea’s surprised when he sets his shoulders back, head rising to his full height as he moves gracefully through the moves. Who knew the kid had it in him? Manuela, clearly. As for the rest of the Golden Deer, they look as surprised as Dorothea feels. Leonie’s jaw is dropped. Lysithea looks like she’s seeing the Goddess. . 

Unfortunately for Ignatz, underdogs don’t always win. Fortunately for Dorothea, she does. When Alois calls the winning tally, she stands, graciously shaking Annette’s and Ignatz’s hands. She crosses the room to the three judges, facing the crowd of students. Manuela hands her the dancer’s robes, planting a kiss on the top of her head, and Dorothea smiles, silk trailing through her fingers. 

Dorothea’s goal is to escape without any congratulations; she’s ready for a gentle goodbye and a large meal, both of which she thinks she’s deserved. Of course, nothing can be that easy. 

“Dorothea.” Dorothea toys with the idea of pretending she hasn’t heard. But she’s not that cruel. And so she turns, and there’s Ingrid, eyes wide as they both stop in the middle of the walkway, students rushing around them. “Can we talk?”

“No,” Dorothea says quickly. Then, wincing at Ingrid’s hurt look, “Or, I mean, not right now. I  _ can’t _ , Ingrid.”

“Please, Dorothea,” Ingrid’s eyes are pleading, brow furrowed and lips turned into a frown. “I just wanted to say I’m sorry, and-”

“Ingrid,” Dorothea cuts her off. She closes her eyes briefly, taking a steadying breath. “Listen, I know. I know you weren’t mocking me, Annette seemed about ready to cry today.”

“Oh.” 

“I just-” Dorothea runs a hand through her hair. “I need more time, Ingrid.”

Ingrid’s frown shifts from desperate to forlorn, and Dorothea doesn’t even dare look up into her eyes. 

“Look, Ingrid, I appreciate you trying. I do.” Dorothea shrugs. “This just isn’t something you can fix with more words. I was trying to give you time, after that night at the Opera,” she closes her eyes again, “And now, I need you to do the same for me.”

She opens her eyes to just catch Ingrid’s nod, to follow the bob down her throat as she swallows. 

“Of course, Dorothea.” Ingrid smiles sadly. “Of course. Um, whatever you need.” A beat. “I should go.” 

Dorothea lets her pass her by, heart heavy with the weight of victory and sorrow.

* * *

“And then,” Ferdinand says, swallowing a bite of pastry. “He told me he didn’t even know thunder! You could’ve beaten him any day, Dorothea, I swear on the Goddess.” 

Dorothea laughs, throwing her head back. 

It’s been a long time since she’s been able to enjoy tea times such as these, and now that she can truly call Ferdinand a friend, she’s finding herself enjoying his company even more. 

“But anyway,” Ferdinand says, clasping his hands in front of him. “Let us speak of the ball. Did you know I am going stag? It is supposed to be in style now, I’ve heard.”

“Oh, you are?” Dorothea hums. “Did something happen with you and-”

She’s cut off by Ferdinand’s cough as he leans over the table, face red. 

“Gross, Ferdie, not on the pastries.”

“I can assure you!” Ferdinand bellows. “I am not in a relationship right now. Not now. Not ever. I am not in a relationship!”

“Oh, right, of course.” Dorothea snaps her fingers, leaning back in her chair. “Because, of course, if you were, you’d tell your dear old friend Dorothea, right?”

Ferdinand’s face grows redder, if possible. “Yes! Of course. Of course.”

Slamming a hand on the table, Dorothea leans across it. She looks Ferdinand straight in the eyes, a grin on her face. “All right, Ferdie, cut the crap. I know you’re with Hubie  _ and  _ I know he doesn’t want Edie to know you two are together.” 

Ferdinand falls out of his chair. 

“So,” Dorothea leans back. “Why don’t you just take me to the ball instead?” It’s not a question.

She lets Ferdinand recover, primly sipping her tea. 

After a moment, Ferdinand’s head pops back over the table, and then the rest of him. “Dorothea, skipping past all of these… lies you are telling about me, What do you mean, I should take you? Are you not going with Ingrid?”

Dorothea winces. “About that,” Ferdinand takes his seat again, face still pink. “We’ve had a bit of an argument.”

Ferdinand’s brow furrows. He reaches across the table, setting one gloved hand over Dorothea’s. “My friend, what ever happened?”

Hm. 

It’s not that Dorothea doesn’t want to talk about it - she’s longing to share everything that’s happened with  _ someone _ , and though Edelgard is certainly out of the question, she was thinking someone more along the lines of Petra. Or Hilda. 

She does love Ferdinand, don’t get her wrong. However, he does have a way about him that leads Dorothea to believe that he wouldn’t be able to keep any secrets she tells him contained. 

But then again, apparently Ingrid has already told, like, over half of the Blue Lions, so what the hell?

“I’ll tell you, Ferdinand. But you have to promise it’ll stay between us.”

“Your secret is safe with me,” Ferdinand declares, shaking a fist in the air. 

Dorothea purses her lips. “Me and Ingrid’s relationship wasn’t real.”

Ferdinand raises his eyebrows. “Good Sothis, really?”

“Let me continue,” Dorothea says. She stares at a point behind him. “And it was going okay. It was- hold on. I just realized the Professor must’ve not told anyone we got together. Oh my Goddess, it was Ingrid.”

She stares at Ferdinand. He looks confused. 

“Sorry, beside the point, I’ll… anyway.” Dorothea shakes her head to clear her thoughts. “But then, I started developing feelings for her. It doesn’t matter. But we kissed, I mean, we kissed without it being a ploy, and flames, Ferdie, it was an  _ amazing  _ kiss, but then things just got strange between us.” 

Ferdinand nods his head.

“And then, last weekend, I went with her to her sister’s wedding, and things just got weirder. She was crying a bit, and her father was being a real ass, and then at the wedding she got a bit drunk and she told me she loved me, and then also told me that she loved me ever since we started the fake relationship,” Dorothea cringes. “And then, she accidentally confessed to me that Sylvain, who I thought she was in love with, as well as so many others, were told by her that the relationship was fake,  _ and  _ Sylvain was supposed to help me fall in love with her.

“And now, I just don’t know what to do,” Dorothea finishes, huffing and looking over at Ferdinand. “Ideas?”

Ferdinand opens his mouth to speak, but Dorothea continues, “I don’t know if maybe I was too harsh, because I  _ really  _ reamed into her, you know? She was pretty tipsy when she told me and I think she wasn’t having the best night regardless; she’s never been good around people she doesn’t know, and when I call her father an ass, I mean he’s the assiest of all asses. I don’t know. I just feel so used.” She props herself up on her hands, elbows pressing into the tablecloth, giving Ferdinand an expectant look. 

Ferdinand blinks. “Why, Dorothea.” He blinks again. “That is a very difficult situation to be in.” Again. “May I speak with you plainly?”

Dorothea smiles to herself. “Sure, Ferdie.”

“I have absolutely no idea what it is you should do.”

It’s so unexpected, so unlike Ferdinand to not have a plan, Dorothea barks out a laugh. Then, Ferdinand is laughing, and Dorothea is laughing harder, and Ferdinand is wiping tears from his eyes. 

“See! I got you to smile a bit. That is good, at least.” 

“Gotta admit, Ferdie, that’s a bit of a feat right now,” Dorothea concedes. “But really, thank you.”

“Of course, Dorothea. We are friends, you and I. You can talk through it with me as much as you wish.” He pauses. “You say you feel used. Why is that?”

Dorothea frowns. “I don’t know. It’s just…” she bites her lip. “I thought we were in this together, you know? I thought we were both falling in love at the same time, and then to find out that she’d been in love with me for months, and told people about our situation, when I was so careful and only told Hilda, it just hurts. It hurts.” 

Ferdinand hums. “I am truly sorry, my friend.” 

“It’s just dumb,” Dorothea huffs. “I don’t know. I just hate being on the outside. And not knowing things. And being lied to.” 

They sit in silence for a moment. 

“It’s just,” Dorothea says. “I only wish she would’ve told me when we were discussing the logistics of all this, that she was in love with me, because I could have known? And really, the idea that dating me, but not actually  _ dating  _ me, would help her get over me?”

“Has anyone ever gotten over the magnificent Dorothea Arnault?” Ferdinand says dramatically. 

“Hells no,” Dorothea says, and gives him a wry smile. “It’s just dumb. It was a stupid plan of hers, and, honestly, trying to quell the rumor mill by confirming gossip? Not my best plan, either.”

“I do not doubt it. It sounds like quite a silly idea, actually.”

Dorothea hits his arm. “Oh, shut it.”

Ferdinand frowns. 

Sitting back in her seat, Dorothea crosses her hands in front of her. “Damn. We really made a mess of it, huh?”

Ferdinand waves his hand. “Ah. Everyone is messy, Dorothea. You are certainly not alone in that.” 

“Oh yeah?” Dorothea waggles her eyebrows. “Spill it, Ferdie. What’s all messy about you and H-”

“Anyway, Dorothea, I really must be going!” Ferdinand shoves out of his seat, face red again.

Dorothea grins, letting him off the hook. “Really, Ferdie. Thank you. This helped.” 

“Right, well. I am always here for you, but for now, I really must be going, as I think our conversation has reached quite a natural stopping point, don’t you think?” Ferdinand shrugs on his coat. “No need to overstay my welcome.” He laughs nervously, bowing. 

Dorothea snorts. “Sure, Ferdie. Sure.” 

* * *

And Dorothea  _ is  _ starting to feel better. Even if she might’ve not wanted to tell Ferdinand everything that was happening, and even if he couldn’t offer much advice, just saying it out loud to someone helps. Getting it all out in the open, as it were. 

It might be different now that she knows it wasn’t all for a mockery at her expense.

It might be different. 

She’ll let Ingrid explain, someday, but for now, a warm bath and time spent with her hair are calling Dorothea’s name. It’s been a rough few days, and this might just help a bit

She almost steps on the parchment slid under her door.

Dorothea recognizes the handwritten “Dorothea,” on the front as Ingrid’s, and picks it up, letting her door fall closed behind her as she turns it from side to side. She bites her thumbnail, considering. 

A bath can wait, Dorothea decides. She falls onto her bed, sliding open the seal. She has some reading to do. 

* * *

**Coming up: A night at the ball.**

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [tumblr](https://officialferdinand.tumblr.com) [twitter](https://twitter.com/bizzybee429)
> 
> [Dorogrid Week](https://twitter.com/WeekOfDorogrid) is at the end of May!
> 
> Make sure to check one of my social medias above if you want to join the Dorogrid Discord Server - I'll be posting links on each of them!
> 
> In addition - going to try my absolute hardest to get the next chapter (the last chapter, save the epilogue (wow!)) out on time. I expect to; however, the world is a little on fire right now so if there's a delay, I apologize in advance! Thank you all again for the overwhelming support this fic has gotten; I appreciate every kudos and comment. <3


	10. Sigh No More

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _"This cold night will turn us all to fools and madmen."_ \- King Lear, p.46

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Happy birthday to me! Have an early chapter :)
> 
> Crazy to believe we're so close to the end - I want to say thanks to every person who read, kudos, and/or commented on this fic. I'm overwhelmed at the love it's received and I'm sure to be a sobbing mess when I post the epilogue. Thank you as well to my amazing beta readers Kelsey, Sydney, Isa, and Randi - without you three I surely would've never finished a chapter, ever. 
> 
> This chapter, and then a short epilogue as soon as I'm done! I might have a surprise with the posting of the epilogue, though, but my lips are sealed for now. Thank you, love you all. Hope you're staying safe and healthy!

* * *

~~_Dear D_ ~~

~~_To Dor_ ~~

_Dorothea,_

_I hope this isn’t strange. Is it strange? It feels a bit strange._

* * *

“I don’t want to hurt you,” Mercedes coos, then pulls Ingrid’s hair so hard she’s surprised it doesn’t tear out of her scalp. 

“Sweet Seiros, Mercedes,” Ingrid curses, clutching the edge of her vanity. 

“Oh, Ingrid, I’m sorry. Did that hurt?” She pulls the other strand back, starting on a tight braid. 

“How are you that strong?”

“Oh, you know.” Mercedes sighs. “I always used to do my little brother Emile’s hair when we were younger, and I guess the skills never really went away.”

There’s a lull in the conversation, the air heavy as Mercedes continues braiding, either unaware or ignoring the change in mood. 

It’s interrupted by the arrival of Annette, bursting into Mercedes’ room with a bag over her shoulder and a case in hand. “Ingrid! You’re already here!”

“Mercedes is doing my hair,” Ingrid says, wincing again as Mercedes gives her scalp another tug. 

“Hello, Annie,” Mercedes greets. 

“All right, scoot over. I need to start on makeup.” Annette forces herself onto the same small stool as Ingrid, shoving her to the side. She turns to face Ingrid with a sly smile on her face. “Say, Ingrid, can’t I put makeup on you? Just this once.” 

Ingrid scrunches her nose. “Annette, no. Really.” 

“Aw, it’s a special occasion!”

“Which makes me not want to wear it even more,” Ingrid says with an air of finality.

“Leave her be, Annie,” Mercedes says airily, using one hand to pick up a few pins and hold them between her teeth as she ties off two braids. “Ingrid doesn’t have to wear makeup if she doesn’t want to.” Or, at least, that’s what it sounds like, muffled by the pins in her mouth. 

Annette doesn’t respond, pulling out a jar of cream colored liquid and a brush. Ingrid sits back, trying not to watch in the mirror to see what Mercedes is doing. All she knows is her head feels heavy and tight, and Mercedes keeps accidentally jamming pins into her scalp. 

Instead, she watches Annette as she brushes the cream over her face, blending it in with the brush. It makes her face uniform, free of the acne and splotches Ingrid can point out on her own chin. 

And it’s not like she wants to wear it. Ingrid’s never been one to care about looks, and she’s never been one for looking pretty, either. She does wish she were more handsome, though. 

No use worrying about that, now. 

“Done!” Mercedes proclaims, setting her hands on Ingrid’s shoulders. “Does it look okay?” 

Ingrid looks up. She stares closer. “Mercedes, what the hell?”

“Oh, I’m sorry,” Mercedes says. “I can take it out if you want?”

“No,” Ingrid says quickly. She turns her head from side to side, trying to see the back of her head. “It looks… good.” 

The pain was definitely worth it. Her hair is split into two braids, each flipped up and wrapped around the back of her head, the ends pinned at the crown. She likes it. It gives her the allusion of short hair, cut close enough to the scalp for the wind to blow through it without the added frustration of it blinding her or getting into her mouth. She likes it a lot. 

Ingrid brings a hand up to brush against one of the braids, wincing at her still sensitive scalp. “Thank you, Mercedes,” she says, still staring. “Thank you so much.”

“Oh, there’s really no need to thank me.” Mercedes leans down, planting a kiss on top of her head. “I’m happy to help you look your best.” 

Ingrid stands, moving to the bed so Mercedes can take her spot. “Still, though. Thanks.” 

Mercedes smiles at her through the mirror, pulling out her own makeup. 

Ingrid can’t seem to sit still, waiting for her friends to finish getting ready themselves. She crosses and uncrosses her legs, trying not to bite her nails. Whatever. They’re already stubs, so it doesn’t matter. She gnaws at her thumbnail for a moment before dropping her hands into her lap, falling back to lie on the bed. 

“Careful with your hair,” Mercedes warns. 

“I am.” 

A moment of silence. Ingrid can hear Mercedes and Annette whispering amongst themselves, and Ingrid knows it’s about her. It’s funny, though, so she lets them. 

“Ingrid,” Mercedes starts, and Ingrid smiles at the ceiling. “Are you going to be okay not going with Dorothea?”

Ingrid shrugs. “Even if I wasn’t, I would have to be.”

There’s a pause.

“I’m sorry, Ingrid,” Annette says, and she sounds like she’s almost close to tears. Ingrid lifts her head off the bed to give her a look, then drops it back down. “We should’ve never-”

“Annette, you’re fine,” Ingrid says, drumming her fingers against Mercedes’ covers. “Really. Not your fault. I kept it going when I should’ve just stopped.”

They pause, and Ingrid can practically feel Mercedes and Annette’s eyes on her. She tries her best to not think about it, to not look back at them. She brushes a few loose strands of hair off of her forehead. 

“Well, Ingrid, we’re here for you!” Annette says, and Ingrid can’t tell if her cheeriness is forced or not. “I doubt Bernie’s gonna wanna stay for long, but I can stay with you when she goes to bed and we can dance.” 

“Oh, yes,” Mercedes agrees. “I’m sure Sylvain will find some girl to run off with, so I should be free, too!” 

Ingrid lifts her head again. “Mercedes, if Sylvain abandons you I’m going to kick his ass.”

Mercedes giggles. “All right, thanks Ingrid.”

Ingrid sighs and pulls herself up, sitting with her feet hanging off the bed. “Thank you, though, you two. I appreciate it.”

* * *

_I just wanted to say I’m really, really sorry. I shouldn’t have done it._

* * *

Dorothea and Ferdinand are nothing if not preparers. Dorothea, at least, isn’t a preparer with most things, unlike Ferdinand. When it comes to dressing up and looking pretty; however, she doesn’t take any chances. 

This is why they’re laying side by side on Ferdinand’s bed, passing a bottle of cider back and forth and trying to pass the time with meaningless conversation. 

“What time is it?” Dorothea asks, hands on her stomach. 

Ferdinand sniffs and glances out the window. “Quarter after six, I’d say.” 

Dorothea groans. “What time can we leave again? Dear Ferdie, I fear I might die of boredom.”

“We may leave in thirty minutes,” Ferdinand says, and Dorothea can see him shaking a fist out of the corner of her eye. “Even I do not wish to be this early.” 

Dorothea groans. 

* * *

_I did it because I liked you, so much, and I didn’t know how to tell you, at all. But that’s not really an excuse, is it?_

* * *

“What? Ingrid! I thought you had that suit from your sister’s wedding,” Annette says, sharing a glance with Mercedes as Ingrid pulls out her formal dress. 

“It got wrecked because I sat on the floor and cried all over it for three hours,” Ingrid says bluntly, ignoring Annette’s gasp behind her. “It’s… fine. This is the only formal thing I have, so it’s fine.” 

A pause. 

“Okay,” Mercedes says, taking a breath. “Ingrid, please don’t get mad.” 

“What?” Ingrid says. 

“She said don’t get mad!” Annette barks. 

“Annie and I wanted to do something nice for you.”

“I’m scared to ask. What did you do?”

Mercedes crosses to her wardrobe, pulling out a long black clothing bag. “This is for you.” 

Ingrid gives her a wry look, and with Annette watching her hopefully, slowly undoes the bag. 

It’s the same suit she’d seen in the tailor’s window, all those moons ago. The one so dark it nearly blends into the bag behind it, with trim the color of her hair and lining the color of the sky at noon. 

“Why? How?” Ingrid says, turning to Annette and Mercedes. “You two, this was so expensive, you really shouldn’t have. I can’t repay you for this.”

Annette shrugs. “You don’t have to. We pooled our funds. Sylvain helped out.”

Ingrid opens her mouth to protest, but Mercedes cuts her off. “If you like, Ingrid, it can be an early birthday present.” 

Ingrid frowns. “You didn’t have to do this.”

“Well, we did,” Mercedes says serenely. 

“No returns!” Annette adds. “So if you don’t want it, we bought it for nothing!”

Ingrid glares at them. They look smug. She hates that they won. “Fine.” 

“You know, Ingrid,” Annette says, putting a finger on her chin and rolling her eyes. “We did chip in money to buy you a pretty nice gift so the _least_ you could do…”

After a pause, Ingrid softens and sighs. “Sorry. No, you're right. Thank you, both of you. Sorry."

"It's fine, Ingrid," Mercedes says, eyes twinkling. "Make sure you thank Sylvain, too." 

Ugh. Does she have to? "I will," Ingrid promises. 

*Great!" Annette claps her hands together. "Group hug time!" 

And Ingrid may roll her eyes, and may pretend like she's only doing it to indulge Annette, but truthfully, truthfully, she loves being wrapped in her friends' arms. 

* * *

_And I know that doesn’t help, now, so I just wanted to say it. I’m sorry. And I care about you. But I’m sorry, first and foremost, and that’s what matters more. I’m sorry._

* * *

Despite their excessive readiness, Ferdinand and Dorothea are the second pairing to enter the Black Eagles classroom to meet before the ball. Edelgard and Hubert stand near the blackboard at the front of the room, heads bent together in low conversation. 

When Hubert first sees Dorothea and Ferdinand, they part much too quickly, in a way that would be suspicious if Dorothea didn't already know that he and Edelgard make everything seem peculiar simply by way of their incomparable gravitas.

"Ferdinand, Dorothea," Edelgard greets. "You both look lovely." Hubert nods his agreement from behind her. 

"Why thank you," Ferdinand says, chin high. "You two are looking fine as well.

"I must say I agree with Ferdie." Dorothea throws them a wink. Hubert gives her a wry smile. "You two excited for the ball?"

Hubert hums noncommittally. 

"I know I am," Edelgard laughs, fiddling with her hair. "I am a bit nervous, I must admit. I've never been to a function such as this." 

"I'm sure you'll perform indubitably," Dorothea assures her.

"Yes, Edelgard, though not everyone can be as beautiful a dancer as I, I am quite sure your noble upbringing will show itself in your poise and posture." 

Dorothea shares an amused glance with Edelgard. "Sure, Ferdinand," Edelgard says. "Sure." 

The four make casual conversation, or, rather, three of them speak while Hubert looms over them like a great black bird. 

Dorothea will never understand Ferdinand's taste in men. 

* * *

_And I also wanted to let you know_ ~~_however long_ ~~

~~_even if you never_ ~~

_you can take as much time as you need._

* * *

"I don't think I'm in dress code," Ingrid frets, smoothing her hands down her front. 

"Oh, I'm sure you'll be just fine," Mercedes says from the bed. 

"Yeah, Hanneman's nearly blind, anyway. No one's gonna care," Annette says. 

Ingrid frowns and sighs. "I guess." 

She has to admit, though. She looks good. She has no idea if Mercedes has a good eye for sizes or if she somehow snuck measurements when Ingrid wasn't looking. Ingrid wouldn't put it past her. 

"We're supposed to meet in the classroom, right?" Ingrid asks.

"Nah, Hanneman said to just meet in front of it and then everyone can walk down without him." Annette wets her hand and tries to press down a stubborn strand of hair at the crown of her head. "He's chaperoning or something like that."

"Okay. Fine." Ingrid doesn't know why she's so nervous. It's not like she's never worn pants in public before. She doubts that anyone besides Sylvain and Felix have even seen her in a skirt. Seeing Mercedes and Annette, though, so pretty in their dresses, makes her feel uncomfortable somehow, the urge to crawl out of her skin or hide in her room for the rest of the night stronger than usual. She doesn't want to wear a suit. She doesn't want to wear a dress. She wants to go back to her room and change into her pajamas and read the book Ashe lent her until the ball is over.

She doesn't realize she's shaking until Mercedes catches her hands in her own, rubbing soothing circles across her knuckles. "Ingrid." 

Ingrid blows out a breath of air. "Yeah. I'm good."

"I think you look great!" Annette calls from the door. "The suit fits, and we're already gonna be late, so it's too late to turn back now!"

"Oh, Ingrid, Annie's right. You look very handsome." 

Ingrid takes a slow, deep breath. She nods. "Okay. I'm ready."

In hindsight, she doesn't know what she was so worried about. Dimitri merely reminds her that she's not following the dress code, but he doesn't turn her away. Sylvain smirks at her, and his smirk only widens when she begrudgingly thanks him and bats his hand away when he tries to muss her hair. Felix doesn't even show.

The reception hall is empty, save for the chaperones when the Blue Lions enter. Sylvain uses it as an opportunity to shove Ingrid forward and take her place at Mercedes' side, pulling her out to the empty dance floor and twirling her in a circle while Mercedes giggles. 

Ingrid takes one look at her friends and walks over to the refreshment table, piling a plate high with tiny round-shaped lemon cakes and retreating to lean against the wall near Annette, who’s vibrating so hard Ingrid thinks she may just fly off. Instead, Ingrid offers her a sweet. Annette takes it and nibbles on it in small bites, not unlike a squirrel. 

The second class to arrive is the Golden Deer, and the weight that lifts in her chest, relief washing over her when she sees Leonie, also in a suit, smiling and waving at her from the entrance. 

Now she only stands out by being the only one not in dress code. Small victories. 

Ingrid can barely get used to the feeling of more eyes on her when the Black Eagles arrive with Professor Byleth at their helm, all looking too elegant and dramatic for Ingrid to handle. Or maybe that’s just Dorothea. She floats in on Ferdinand von Aegir’s arm and looks so damn stunning Ingrid’s glad she has the wall to lean against. 

When everyone’s settled, and Bernadetta’s curled into Annette’s side, and Ingrid’s trying to look anywhere but where she truly wants to look, Professor Manuela calls them all to attention for the Lord’s dance. Dedue sweeps Dimitri onto the dancefloor, where the other Lords and their retainers have already taken position.

Ingrid watches the three pairs as they fall into the traditional waltz, swaying along to the music as she eats the last pastry on her plate and let’s her arm fall by her side. She stretches. She looks for Dorothea again in the groups of students lining the walls. In the end, it’s Ferdinand’s bright mop of orange hair that stands out, and Ingrid spies that, and only then Dorothea. 

She could have sworn their gazes met for just a moment, but when she blinks, Dorothea’s watching Edelgard and Hubert. Ingrid looks away. 

When the song ends, Ingrid joins the rest of the students in polite applause, and when the Lords leave the floor, the musicians strike up a more energetic tune, a lively Morfis two-step that Ingrid is absolutely atrocious at. 

Regardless, she accepts Dimitri’s outstretched hand, and tries her best not to step on his toes as he guides her to the floor. They start hand in hand, and when Dimitri’s the first to step on Ingrid’s foot for once, Ingrid laughs. 

And as she and Dimitri dip and swing and swirl and turn, Ingrid feels, for once, happy. 

* * *

_Just know I'm here. I'm waiting. I won't be stupid and refuse to talk to you anymore._

* * *

This might be the most fun Dorothea has ever had on a date, most likely due to the fact that she knows Ferdinand has no ulterior motives, and if he did, she would surely already know of them. In fact, Ferdinand has been nothing short of gracious. He’s bowed out nearly every song to allow other gentlemen and ladies the chance to dance with the White Heron Cup Champion, though Dorothea deduces that it’s at least partly because of the stolen glances and blushes he’s sharing with Hubert across the room. 

“You know, Ferdie,” Dorothea says after nearly an hour of falling back to his side and being swept away again and again. “You can go spend time with Hubert. Or whatever you two do while he watches Edie with those eagle eyes. I don’t mind at all.”

Ferdinand turns to her, patting her arm. “Oh, Dorothea, I will not hear of it! I am escorting you, and so by your side I shall stay.” 

Dorothea rolls her eyes. “I’ve left you just about ten times in the last hour. Go on, now.” She wiggles her eyebrows. “Shirk your noble duties.” 

Ferdinand scoffs. “Why, Dorothea. I could never.” He reaches a hand out to her, and Dorothea accepts, letting him pull her onto the dance floor. 

They dance in silence for a moment before Dorothea continues. “Really, Ferdie. I don’t mind. I’ve been wanting to take a rest and Hubie over there has been watching you nearly as much as he’s been watching Edie.”

Ferdinand flushes, but protests, “Truly, Dorothea. I would feel terrible leaving you alone.” 

“ _Truly,_ Ferdie, I’ll be just fine without you watching over me. I’ll go spend time with Petra. You wouldn’t be leaving me alone at all. Go have fun.”

Ferdinand frowns. “I-”

“Who knows, Ferdie,” Dorothea says, voice sing-song. “If you go talk to Hubert, maybe I can even go seek out Ingrid.”

Ferdinand blinks. “You would?” 

“Yes, but,” Dorothea sighs, “I would hate to abandon my date.”

Ferdinand splutters. “Why- Dorothea! I can not stand in the way of true love!” 

“Oh, but Ferdie-”

“No, no. I will not speak of it.” Ferdinand steps back as the song ends. “I shall go say hi to Hubert to get out of your hair. You, go get your lady love.” 

“If you’re sure,” Dorothea says, trying to hide her smile as Ferdinand bows and retreats across the floor.

Dorothea moves to the buffet table, taking a glass of water and retreating to the wall. She watches Ferdinand join Hubert, then lets her eyes wander, fanning herself with one hand. 

She almost doesn't recognize Ingrid by the back of her head. Mercedes has really done a splendid job of pinning it up, and from first glance it looks as though her hair is truly short.

The second thing she notices is Sylvain, staring straight at her, watching her watch Ingrid with an amused expression on his face. 

She's already groaning when Sylvain stands, leaning in to whisper something to Mercedes before making his way across the room. 

"Lady Dorothea," Sylvain greets, bowing graciously with a smile Dorothea is sure he thinks is charming. "You've been so popular tonight, I was wondering if I'd even get a chance to speak with you, let alone dance." 

"Hello, Sylvain," Dorothea says curtly. "Is that what you are here to do, then? Ask me to dance?" 

"If you insist." Sylvain winks, holding out his arm. Dorothea takes it. 

"Did Ingrid send you?" Dorothea asks as they fall into a waltz. She lets go of Sylvain's shoulder for a moment to firmly move his hand from her hip to higher up her waist. 

"Ingrid? No," Sylvain lowers his voice, faux-sultry as he asks, "Did you want her to?" 

Dorothea ignores the question. "Does she even know you're over here?" 

The two turn in sync in Ingrid's direction. Ingrid's staring daggers at Sylvain, face bright red. She meets Dorothea's gaze for just a moment before turning back to Mercedes, blush deepening if possible. 

"I'll take that as a yes," Dorothea mutters, turning back to Sylvain. 

Sylvain raises his eyebrows, eyes too wide and too innocent as he claims, "Hey, she tried to stop me. Is it really so bad that I wanted to ask the esteemed White Heron Cup champion to dance?" 

"Knowing you? Yes."

Sylvain laughs, and the two fall into a comfortable silence. Sylvain truly is a good dancer - Dorothea now has no idea where Ingrid learned to have two left feet. Wait, speaking of-

"Aren't you going to ask me about Ingrid?" Dorothea asks. 

Sylvain cocks an eyebrow. "Did you want me to ask about Ingrid?"

Dorothea hesitates. "No."

"You sure?" Sylvain smiles cheekily, spinning Dorothea in a twirl. "Seems kind of like you want me to bug you about Ingrid." 

Dorothea purses her lips. 

"Oh, but only if I could," Sylvain laments, shifting his grip to lower Dorothea into a dip. "Tragically, my dear Dorothea, the song has ended." He pulls her back up and takes a step back. As he bows for the second time that night, Sylvain adds, “You know, you could always bug Ingrid about Ingrid.”

Dorothea crosses her arms as he retreats. 

* * *

_I feel like I should stop talking before I start rambling. So, that's it, I guess._

* * *

“Oh, shit. He’s not going to talk to Dorothea, is he?” 

The voice of Mercedes, calm in the storm that’s Ingrid’s mind, comes from behind her. “Oh, I’m sure he wouldn’t- Oh. Yes, it looks like he’s going to speak with Dorothea. Do you want me to interrupt?”

Ingrid briefly considers this. “No, that’s all right, Mercedes. They’re their own people.” She huffs. She knows she’s staring. She doesn’t really care.

“Ingrid, staring at them isn’t going to make you feel better.” 

“Trust me, Mercedes, I’ll worry more if I’m not looking.” 

“Oh, Ingrid.” Mercedes sighs. “I suppose you know best.” 

“Do you think they’re talking about me?”

“I think you might be worrying a bit too much. Here, have a pastry.” Ingrid turns and takes the cake from Mercedes’ hand, taking a large bite and furrowing her brow. She curses herself that Mercedes knows her so well, as she’s been thoroughly distracted by what is truly a beautiful piece of cake. 

She only turns back when she feels an all too familiar clap on her shoulder. “All right, ladies. Where did we leave off?” 

Mercedes giggles as Ingrid turns, a frown on her face. “Sylvain.”

Sylvain grins, reaching out with a thumb to press the wrinkle between Ingrid’s eyebrows. “Stop frowning. You’re gonna wrinkle.”

Ingrid’s frown deepens. Sylvain laughs. 

“Look,” he says. “I didn’t talk to her about you. I know you didn’t want me to, so I didn’t. Fair?” 

“Ingrid,” Mercedes adds from the corner of Ingrid’s vision. “I think it’s very good of you to give Dorothea the space she needs.” 

“Thank you, Mercedes,” Ingrid grits out. 

“But,” Mercedes sighs. “I fear that the more you focus on this the more it’s going to hurt you.”

“Yeah, Ingrid.” Sylvain takes the rest of the cake from Ingrid’s hand, shoving it in his mouth with a wink. “Stop being so weird about it.” He hacks out a cough as powdered sugar goes down his throat while Mercedes scowls at him. 

“Mercedes, my dear,” Sylvain chokes out, eyes watering as he pounds on his chest. He stays hunched over a moment longer before standing, letting out a breath. “Phew. Mercedes, my dear, is it alright if I ask our darling Ingrid to dance?”

“Of course, Sylvain,” Mercedes coos. “Have fun, you two.”

“I’m right here,” Ingrid says.

Sylvain startles dramatically. “Why, Ingrid! I didn’t see you there! Care to join me for a dance?” 

Ingrid rolls her eyes. “Fine.”

“A resounding yes!” Sylvain pulls her onto the floor amid Mercedes giggles. 

“Now, Ingrid,” Sylvain says as they step. “I’m going to need you to loosen up about five notches. We’re at a party! Time to have fun.”

“I am having fun,” Ingrid protests, frowning. “Just because I don’t show it as much as you-”

“Hey now, like I said. Five notches.” Sylvain winks. “By the way, you look great tonight. Suits fit you.” 

“Yeah?” Ingrid feels her face heating as she looks down at herself. “I think you’re right.”

“Oh, I know I am.” 

This time, though, it’s not bragging, it’s earnest. It’s almost sweet. Ingrid’s kind of disgusted, but she leans forward, resting her head on Sylvain’s shoulder. 

“Aw, Ingrid,” Sylvain says. “How sentimental of you. I can’t say I don’t like it.” 

“Don’t ruin it.” 

“Did you want me to be your wingman? I can help you get a rebound.”

Ingrid stands straight again. “Okay. You ruined it.”

“When did you get so tall, anyway?” 

“Like five years ago, Sylvain. Right after-” She cuts herself off. 

Sylvain’s quiet, and Ingrid doesn’t know how the conversation went south so quickly. Thank the Goddess the song ends, and Sylvain pulls back. 

“Well, Ingrid,” and she hates the guarded look in his eyes. “I should return to my date. You’re welcome to join us, if you like.”

“I’m alright.” Ingrid waves him off. “I think I’m gonna get some air.”

“Suit yourself. You know where to find us.”

“If I don’t see you again, know that if you abandon Mercedes to get laid, I’ll kill you.” 

Sylvain scoffs. “Dear Goddess, Mercedes would kill me first with those puppy-dog eyes. I would never.”

Ingrid snorts. 

After they part, Ingrid heads to the buffet table, gathering a heaping plate of food. It’s cold outside, but nowhere near the Faerghan winters. Ingrid’s still not used to not needing a snow-resistant coat this time of year, but she shivers only for a minute as she exits the reception hall. She’s walking without a destination in mind, content with nothing more than a plate of food, the feeling of wearing a suit, and the nighttime breeze. 

* * *

_I'll see y_ _ou in class. I miss you._

* * *

Dorothea isn’t sure why she follows Ingrid. She’d like to tell herself she isn’t following her, that she just wants to take a breath as Ingrid is surely doing, but she knows. 

It’s not that she wants to go falling back into Ingrid’s arms. No matter how much she wishes things could be that simple, while her heart is easily swayed, her mind is not. The space has helped. The time has helped. That infuriatingly sweet and gentle letter Ingrid left at her doorstep helped, in theory, but has also confused Dorothea even more. And still, she cannot stop the thrill that goes through her whenever she sees Ingrid in that black and gold suit. 

And that’s how she finds Ingrid at the foot of the Goddess Tower steps, a half-empty plate of pastries before her, eating with a smile on her face that Dorothea hasn’t seen in awhile and has missed so, so much. 

“Ingrid?” she says, stepping out of the shadows. 

Ingrid looks up and almost drops her plate. “D-Dorothea!” 

“Steady,” Dorothea can’t help a small laugh. “Don’t drop your food.”

Ingrid reaches down to set down her plate, opting to hold one cream puff in her hand as she straightens back up again. “Um. Hi.” 

“Hey.”

There's a pause. 

"So-"

"I wanted-"

Ingrid waves her hand. "No, sorry. You go."

Dorothea gives her a sheepish look. "I just was wondering if you wanted to talk?"

Ingrid freezes. She blinks. And then she's everywhere, shifting, trying to decide how to stand or how to look and what to do with the puff in her hand. 

"Hey, Ingrid. It's okay," Dorothea says. "You can relax."

Ingrid pauses then nods, leaning down to put the cream puff back on her plate and then dusting her hands off on her pants. "Okay. Sorry."

"You're fine." 

"Um, so-" 

"Anyway, I-" 

They pause again. "You go," Dorothea invites.

"I wanted to, um, apologize in person," Ingrid says. "I've been really dumb these past few months. I'm sorry." 

"Thank you for apologizing."

"It's just," Ingrid moves to run a hand through her hair then stops when she meets the pins holding it together. "I liked you. So much. And I didn't know how to tell you."

"So instead, you fabricated and entire relationship and got your friends to be in on it, too?" 

Ingrid gives an unamused chuckle. "See, when you put it like that, it sounds even worse than it does in my head." 

Dorothea shrugs. 

"I really am sorry, though," Ingrid says, looking down. "And I know that doesn't fix it. And I'm not going to offer any excuses." She scuffs the ground with her shoe. 

"Thank you," Dorothea says. "Really."

They sit in silence. Dorothea sighs. "I mean, it was kind of a stupid idea when you think about it."

Ingrid looks up. 

"I mean," Dorothea twirls a lock of hair between her fingers. "I've come up with many schemes in my life. I don't think this one's in the top 10. Or top 50." She offers Ingrid a small smile. 

Ingrid watches her, slack-jawed. 

"Shut your mouth, darling, before you catch a fly," Dorothea teases.

Ingrid swallows, then shakes her head to clear it. "It wasn't that bad of an idea, I mean-" 

"Oh, no. It was." Dorothea offers another smile. "Ingrid, listen." She sighs. "I can't say I wasn't hurt. I can't say I'm still not a little hurt." 

Ingrid looks so hopeful, so open.

Dorothea tugs on her sleeves. "I try to only associate myself with honest people. There's just… things in my past that have burned me once."

"I'm sorry I lied," Ingrid blurts out. 

"I know. Thanks." Dorothea crosses then uncrosses her arms.

"Are you okay?" 

"Yeah, I'm…" Dorothea bites the inside of her lip. "Just trying to figure out how to say what I want to say." She can feel Ingrid's eyes on her as she thinks.

"You don't have to-" Ingrid tries. "You don't have to, I mean, no pressure, um. Never mind. I'm going to let you speak."

Dorothea bites her lip. "I don't know. I guess, I'm just not sure how much time I need to feel the same again, or if I ever can, but I like you, Ingrid." Ingrid perks up at this, but Dorothea continues. "Those feelings are still there. And your apology means the world for me. I'm not really… used to those."

"You've deserved better, then." 

Dorothea laughs sadly. "Thanks." A beat. "I'm not mad anymore. I'm hurt, but I'm not mad." Another beat. "And if you still feel the same-" 

"My feelings never changed," Ingrid says. 

"We'd have to go slow," Dorothea says. "I'm still hurting. But it's healing. And I'm healing enough to trust that you mean what you say." 

"Can I give you a hug?" Ingrid asks.

Dorothea nods, and it feels like a breath of fresh air when Ingrid wraps her arms around her, holding her close. 

"Thank you for giving me time," Dorothea whispers into Ingrid's shoulder. "I… thank you."

Ingrid holds her tighter. "You can take all the time you need."

Dorothea breathes deeply, relaxing in the familiar scent of everything that's Ingrid - hay, her soap, and something she can't quite place. 

"Can I kiss you?" Dorothea asks with eyes squeezed shut. 

"Only if you want to, Dorothea." Ingrid pulls back, eyes wide. "Like I said there's no pressure, and take whatever time you n-"

She's cut off when Dorothea captures her lips in hers. Dorothea brings a hand up to cup Ingrid's jaw, feeling Ingrid's eyelashes flutter shut against her cheek.

It's slower than their last kiss, gentler, too. Dorothea's stomach is settled, a mix of anxiety and butterflies just fluttering at the bare reach of her emotions. Ingrid tastes sweet like pastries. Sweet like the first rays of sunlight after the rain. 

Sweet like new beginnings. 

* * *

_Love, Ingrid_

* * *

**Coming Up: Two months later.**

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [tumblr](https://officialferdinand.tumblr.com) [twitter](https://twitter.com/bizzybee429)
> 
> [Dorogrid Week](https://twitter.com/WeekOfDorogrid) is at the end of May!
> 
> Want to join the Dorogrid Discord Server? Message me on one of my socials above for an invite!


	11. Epilogue

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Two months later, Ingrid makes a change.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm a sobbing mess! There isn't going to be a note at the end of this chapter, so come talk to me on tumblr @officialferdinand, or twitter @bizzybee429. 
> 
> Also, I promised a surprise last chapter, and a surprise I shall deliver! If you notice, this fic is now a part of a series. Over the weekend, hopefully, or sometime next week, I'll be posting a oneshot sequel to see what happens to Dorothea and Ingrid during the war and after. 
> 
> Thank you all. Thank you.

“All right,” Dorothea says, tapping Ingrid’s shoulder to let her know she can lift her head. “Seiros, you have a lot of hair.”

“It helps me hold my head back when I'm trying to maintain good posture,” Ingrid says, swinging her wet hair over one shoulder. She can only keep her face straight for a moment before dissolving into laughter. “Goddess, Dorothea. The look on your face. I’m kidding.” 

Dorothea laughs, too. “Come on, vanity time.” 

Ingrid stands from the washbasin, shivering from the chill of the air on her neck. 

Dorothea holds out the chair for her, then leans down to kiss Ingrid's temple. “Okay. Let’s get started.” She takes Ingrid’s hairbrush from the desk and brushes through her waves, lifting it to separate the bottom layer. “Fair warning, it’s been awhile since I’ve done this.” She looks up to make eye contact with Ingrid in the mirror, smiling. “So if it looks like shit, you can’t get mad at me.” 

Ingrid laughs. “Yeah, yeah.”

“I’m serious, darling,” Dorothea smiles. “You just might come out of this looking like our dear friend Lorenz.” 

“You wouldn’t.”

“Mm. Not on purpose,” Dorothea agrees, taking a clip off the vanity table and pinning most of Ingrid’s hair to the top of her head. “I’m just saying, it could happen.” 

“Stop saying that,” Ingrid covers her eyes with her hands. “You’re going to make me think you’re serious.”

Dorothea raises an eyebrow. Ingrid looks at her, and it’s the look of utter fear on her face that makes Dorothea break, bursting out a laugh with a hand on Ingrid’s shoulder. 

“I hate you.” Ingrid bites her lip to hide her grin, shaking her head. “Goddess, I hate you.” 

“You know you love me.” Dorothea winks. “But really, it has been awhile.”

“I don't care what you do, just promise I won’t have…  _ that _ haircut.” 

“I promise.” 

“Alright. You can have the scissors now.” 

Dorothea laughs. “Okay, darling.” She takes the shears in one hand. “How short do you want it?” 

“Pretty short.” 

Dorothea hums. “Gonna need a bit more than that to go on, sweetie.”

“Like, um.” Ingrid reaches back, taking the bottom layer of hair in her hand. “This short?” She holds it a few centimeters from her scalp. “And maybe a little longer on top, if that’s okay?”

“Sounds perfect,” Dorothea assures her. “Very handsome." 

She loves how red Ingrid gets at that.

"Last chance to turn back," Dorothea warns, snipping the shears in the air.

"I'm ready."

* * *

It was a full week after the ball when they kissed again. Regardless of that, though, they'd walked to classes together. Dorothea had come to see Ingrid spar countless times; Ingrid had attended a single choir practice, but refused to come back when Manuela insisted she sing for the rest of the club. 

They were sitting in the dining hall during dinner when it happened. Dorothea watched as Ingrid stole food from Sylvain's plate when he wasn't looking. 

When Ingrid looked up at Dorothea with a triumphant grin at her success, Dorothea smiled back, a wave of utter fondness blooming in her chest. 

"I really like you," Dorothea said without thinking.

Ingrid's smile went sheepish. "Oh! I like you, too." 

And easy as can be, Dorothea leaned over and kissed her. A short, shallow kiss, but Ingrid's face was tinged pink when they parted all the same. 

“Want a bite of sorbet?” Dorothea offered, as though nothing new had happened. 

“Sure,” Ingrid nodded, reaching over with her own spoon.

* * *

When Dorothea's trimmed down the bottom layer, she looks up at Ingrid. "Still doing good?" 

Ingrid smiles. "I'm okay."

Dorothea lets down the next layer of hair. 

"My father's going to hate this," Ingrid mutters. 

Dorothea's not sure if she was supposed to hear that, but she figures Ingrid can use the assurance all the same. "Eh," she replies. "He can deal. Pretty sure you already broke his heart when you told him you're becoming a knight. Hair is nothing."

Ingrid sighs. "Point." 

"But are  _ you  _ going to like it?" Dorothea asks, raising an eyebrow as she continues to cut.

"I think I am," Ingrid smiles shyly. 

"Then that's all that matters."

* * *

It was two weeks ago when Ingrid approached Dorothea about her hair. 

"Have you ever cut someone's hair?" she’d asked over the table in the library. 

Dorothea closed her book. "Once or twice, back in my Opera days."

She waited and watched Ingrid as she bit her lip, smoothed back her braid, drummed her fingers against the desk. 

"Um, so I was thinking," Ingrid said, staring at the table. "I want to cut my hair." 

Dorothea smiled. "Okay."

"Really short, like-" Ingrid gestured, holding her hair close to the scalp.

"Do you want my help with that?" 

Ingrid flushes, glancing up at Dorothea and then back at the table. "If you could? If that’s okay." 

"It'd be my pleasure, darling." Dorothea reached across the table, taking one of Ingrid's hands in hers. "You've been thinking a lot about this, huh?" 

"Yeah," Ingrid chuckled. "I have." 

* * *

Dorothea lets down the final part of Ingrid's hair and glances at her in the mirror. "You doing okay there?" 

Ingrid nods stiffly. "Yeah. It's just going to be a big change, you know."

"A good change," Dorothea says, gathering a lock of hair in one hand. 

"Yeah." 

A comfortable silence falls over them; Dorothea caught up in the art of cutting hair, Ingrid caught up in watching her.

"We're almost done," Dorothea says as she’s finishing up. "I can't do anything fancy, but if it needs to be shorter…"

She watches as Ingrid studies herself in the mirror. "I-" Ingrid swallows. 

"You okay?" Dorothea rubs her shoulder comfortingly. 

"Yeah." Ingrid takes a deep breath. "I'm great." 

This short, the waves in Ingrid's hair stand out more, puffing out from the top of her head. It's short enough on the sides to not tickle her ears, and Ingrid brings a hand up to run it through it all. 

"Do you like it?" 

Silently, Ingrid nods. "I… This is going to sound strange." 

Dorothea waits for her to continue. 

"I feel like I look like myself?" Ingrid says, voice going up in the end as she scrunches her nose in confusion. 

"That doesn't sound strange at all." 

Ingrid smiles. "Really?" She turns and stands. 

"Really," Dorothea says. "I feel like you're standing straighter now, too."

Ingrid rolls back her shoulders. "Yeah?"

"It really brings out your eyes." 

Ingrid’s smile widens. "I- Thank you, Dorothea."

Dorothea touches Ingrid's face, running a thumb over her cheek. "You're very welcome, my darling." She grins, reaching up to ruffle Ingrid's hair. "Plus, I can do this now."

Ingrid laughs. "Be my guest." 

Dorothea ruffles it again. "You're very handsome." She reaches back to cup the back of Ingrid's head. "My handsome Ingrid." 

As Dorothea pulls Ingrid into a kiss, she’s smiling, heart light and free. She might not know what's coming next; she knows after graduation they'll have to return to their territories. There will be much to figure out. Things may change again. 

But, for now, she's in Ingrid's arms. She's safe. She's warm. 

She's happy.

* * *

_**The end.** _

* * *

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading! Comments and Kudos are always appreciated. Come talk to me on tumblr if you like! [@dorogrids](dorogrids.tumblr.com)


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